Eleven
by BrandSpankingNew
Summary: After a run in with a perp, DiNozzo doesn't remember anything after 1982; not Gibbs, not the team, not even his age. Can the team get him to remember, and if not, can Gibbs take care of an 'eleven year old' DiNozzo? Complete.
1. Pistol

"Ziva, McGee, around back. DiNozzo, with me." The orders were snapped quickly. They didn't have a lot of time.

The petty officer had been missing for almost a week, and according to the evidence, the killer's next victim—petty officer David Malone—was still alive. For approximately six minutes. They had to get in there now.

Gibbs jerked his head. He watched DiNozzo kick in the door. He could hear an echo of the noise coming from the back—Ziva and McGee were in.

Guns drawn, the men entered the house, scanning with their eyes for movement. The house split off; two doorways led into opposite directions. Gibbs jerked his head again. DiNozzo nodded.

Tony took the left, eyes still scanning. Movement caught his eye, and he jerked his head to the right. It was Ziva. He spared her a second glance, and frowned as she pulled her gun up, barrel facing him. What the--? Oh shit. Tony turned back, but not in time.

The pistol hit him hard, directly in the temple. Ziva watched, horrified, as Tony collapsed to the floor. "Drop the weapon!" she yelled, aiming at the suspect's heart. She didn't even have a moment for Tony, not now. "Put it down!"

She watched as almost playfully, the man pointed the gun back at her. "You want a 'whipping too, sweetheart?" he asked. "I'm sure your boy here is out of commission for awhile." He smirked at her.

Pure rage filled Ziva's chest. "I said, drop the weapon," she enunciated crisply. A small piece of her mind wondered where Gibbs and McGee were. Tony needed to be helped, right away. Blood glinted off the gun. Tony's? Or the petty officer's?

The suspect let the weapon slide off his finger and fall to the floor. It hadn't been fired recently, Ziva thought as she rushed the man. It would have likely gone off.

He grinned, ready for her. "Come on, pretty girl," he said. His leg came up sloppily for a kick.

Ziva blocked it, and sent her fist crashing into his nose. He staggered backwards, hands cupped around the gushing blood. "You bish!" he cried.

It only took her a matter of seconds to send him crashing to the floor and put him in cuffs. She shoved him aside.

Gibbs was right there, moving quickly towards Tony's unconscious form. "What happened?" he barked, dropping to one knee, checking Tony's pulse. "DiNozzo?"

"His back was turned, and the assailant struck him in the temple with the Glock," Ziva reported quickly. "He fell immediately."

"Call an ambulance," Gibbs ordered. "And get the scum in the car."

"And the petty officer?" Ziva asked, calling in the ambulance.

"An ambulance is coming for him. He's alive." Gibbs shook his head, looking at Tony's bleeding temple. A pistol-whipping could kill. His agent's breathing was shallow. "Don't you die on me, DiNozzo," he ordered.

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The team stood in the waiting area. Gibbs held a cup of coffee, but he didn't drink.

A doctor stepped out of DiNozzo's room, marking something on his chart. Gibbs stepped forward.

"How is he doing?" he asked brusquely. The doctor looked up.

"And you are?" He asked. Gibbs took a quick look at the man's name tag. Dr. Michael McDermon. He scowled.

"Special Agent Gibbs," he said, flashing his badge. "That's one of my agents you have in there. How. Is. He?"

Dr. McDermon's eye widened. "He's in serious condition right now," he said. "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more than that unless you're a relative of Mr. DiNozzo's."

A hand touched Gibb's shoulder. "Will you check for us?" Ducky's mild voice asked. "We're quite concerned about our dear Anthony."

The doctor's gaze moved to Ducky, and then back to Gibb's scowling visage. "I'll have someone check right away," he said, moving off quickly.

Gibbs spun to face Ducky. "Can he do that, Duck?" he asked.

"HIPPA, my friend. With any luck, Anthony will have put one of our names down as a contact, and they will be able to inform us of his condition." Ducky patted his back. "We must have patience."

Behind them, there was a ding from the elevator, and the heavy clomp of platform shoes moving across the floor. "Gibbs, is he all right?" Abby cried. He turned just in time to be enveloped in a hug. "What happened to him? Ziva only said that I should get to Bethesda ASAP! Well, she didn't say ASAP, because Ziva doesn't say things like that, but as quickly as I could. Why would she say that if Tony was okay? There'd be no reason. Is he all right?" The words burst forth like water through a broken dam.

"We don't know yet, Ab's," Gibbs said, wishing he had more to tell her. "Something about hippos--"

"What?" Abby pulled back, looking confused. "He was injured by a hippo? Ziva said he was hit in the head."

"The doctor can't tell us anything because of HIPPA, Abigail," Ducky said gently. "Apparently, someone is checking Anthony's records to see if any of us are listed as contacts in case of emergency."

A nurse came towards them. "Are any of you an L.J. Gibbs?" she asked.

Gibbs nudged Abby aside, and stepped forward. "That's me," he said.

"You're listed as Anthony DiNozzo's next of kin," she said.

Gibbs was surprised. DiNozzo had listed him as next of kin? Well, he knew the man's father wouldn't be on that list, so...maybe not so surprised. "Tell me what you know," he said.

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Abby, McGee, and Ziva sat in a row against the wall. Nervously, McGee tapped his foot. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap--

"Stop that," Ziva ordered. "You are driving me up the creek!"

"Up the wall," McGee corrected, but he stopped. "How bad could it possibly be? He only got hit in the head. Gibbs hits him in the head all the time." He didn't sound like he believed his own words.

Abby shook her head. "He didn't just get slapped, Tim. Being pistol-whipped can be deadly. And you said he got hit in the temple," she said to Ziva. "That can cause a myriad of injuries. It's a very fragile area of the head. He could be in bad shape." The Goth sniffed and pulled her knees up to her chin, resting her arms around her shins.

Ziva didn't say anything. She thought of how Tony had suddenly turned boneless, his body hitting the floor with a loud thump. She had feared he was dead at that moment, until she had seen his chest rise and fall.

They sat silently. After a few minutes, McGee started to tap his foot again.

Ziva ignored it.

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Gibbs followed Ducky into the room where Tony lay, his mind boiling with all the words that made up his prognosis. _Prolonged unconsciousness is not desirable...swelling; a possible contusion...some degree of brain damage is likely_....unbelievable. He'd always jokingly said that his senior agent had brain damage, but DiNozzo was actually a very smart man.

"Brain damage, Duck?" he queried softly.

His older friend nodded sadly. "It is entirely possible that being struck so forcefully in the head, especially with an object like a gun, could cause brain damage," he said. "We won't know how extensive the damage is until our young Anthony wakes up."

Gibbs looked down at his senior agent, lying perfectly still under tubes, bandages, and white, industrial sheets. All that said he was alive were the monitors suspended above him, where DiNozzo's blood pressure and heart rate were indicated. He watched the spiking beat of the man's heart for a long moment.

"Would it be permanent?" Gibbs asked.

"Another thing we cannot possibly know until he awakens." Ducky placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We must have patience."

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Ziva and McGee emerged from his room. Ziva's face was closed and unreadable; McGee was a delicate shade of green.

"Abby will not leave, Gibbs," Ziva said. She sounded worried. "She is becoming hysterical. I did not wish to slap her." Her dark eyes met Gibb's own. "You must do something."

_Ah, Abs,_ Gibbs thought. Quickly, he threaded his way past Ziva and McGee, and made his way into Tony's room. DiNozzo hadn't moved, but Abby was crouched on the floor, her arms wrapped around herself, shaking like a leaf. It hit him right in the heart.

"Abby," he said quietly. "Come on. Get up." He didn't wait for her to stand, instead nearly lifting her to her feet. She turned and threw herself into his chest.

"Please tell me he's gonna be alright, Gibbs! Please!" she whimpered.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her. "I don't know, Abs. I wish I could," he muttered to the top of her head. "We'll do everything we can."

"It's not fair!" Abby cried. "He has to be okay. He has to!"

"Shh," he said. "Just have to have patience."

"He's gotta wake up!"

"I know," He murmured. "I know."

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Everywhere he looked, all he saw was dark.

Dark. He was afraid of the dark. You never knew what could be hiding...an animal...a person...a monster. He shuddered. What was out there?

He reached his hand out, but it was so dark, he couldn't see it. And moving was so difficult. Like fighting his way through cooked marshmallows.

Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, pain hit him. It was shocking, agonizing pain. He reached his hands up to his head...or he meant to. His hands didn't move. And his head. Oh, God, his head hurt so bad.

He moaned. He was in agony.

Above him somewhere, he heard a voice. Female, bright, yet sharp. He couldn't make out her words.

Another voice answered hers, a male voice. Commanding, rough around the edges.

"Help," he begged, but all he heard come from his lips was another moan.

And then, there were...hands. On him, touching him. He felt a burning sensation move through his arm. He moaned again.

And then the pain was floating away, along with the voices, and he was alone again, in the marshmallow-y dark.

He let himself just float.

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"He made a noise, Gibbs!" Abby cried. She was clutching onto his neck rather desperately, reminding him sharply of his little girl. He put his hand on her back.

"I heard, Abs," he said, standing to the side of DiNozzo's room as doctors and nurses crowded around his agent's bed, injecting morphine into his I.V. and checking...things.

"Does that mean he's alright?" she begged. "Because he's not in a coma anymore. So that's good, right?"

He couldn't bear her bright, hopeful eyes. He tucked her face into the crook of his shoulder and didn't say anything, watching the medical personnel working on Tony.

He saw Tony's eyelids flicker, and then still. He caught the eyes of one of the nurses, who gave him what was supposed to be an encouraging smile. He felt his lips tighten.

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"He is no longer unconscious, which is a positive sign; however, the results of the MRI and CAT scan both indicate bleeding in the brain, as well as some other anomalies—"

"What exactly does that mean in English?" Gibbs snapped. Ducky placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, making an unsuccessful attempt to be a calming influence.

"What it means is that until he wakes up, we won't know exactly how extensive--"

"The damage will be, yeah, you've told us that before. Got anything new to tell us?"

"I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs. That's all I can tell you for right now. As soon as we know something more, we'll let you know." The doctor quickly shook his and Ducky's hands, and made a hasty exit.

Gibbs sighed, and turned to Ducky. "So, Duck? What do we do?"

"Are you going to stay with Anthony tonight?" Ducky replied.

Gibbs nodded, and Ducky nodded his head, as if to say he'd thought as much. "You have my telephone number, Jethro. Do feel free to ring me up if his status changes."

"Will do," Gibbs said. He turned, and Ducky accompanied him to where the rest of the team sat, in various states of exhaustion.\

"Go home, everyone. He'll still be here tomorrow." He made eye contact with both of his agents, and lastly Abby. "That's an order."

Ziva and Tim rose to their feet, but Abby stubbornly shook her head. "I'm staying here, Gibbs."

He stared her down, but her gaze was unwavering. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. "Okay," he said. "You two, go home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Here, boss, or at work?" Tim asked cautiously.

"That depends," Gibbs answered. "Now, go."

He watched them leave with Ducky, then turned to face Abby. "Go sit with him," he suggested. "I'm going to get a coffee."

"Caff-Pow?" she asked, already walking towards Tony's room.

Gibbs sighed. "Caff-Pow," he said. She flashed him half a smile as she disappeared into the glass cubicle that held his senior agent.

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He was floating now. It didn't hurt anymore.

What had happened? He couldn't remember anything. Had he done something bad? Maybe Father had punished him. But nothing hurt. He felt...well, he felt nothing actually. If Father had punished him, he certainly would have felt something.

But it had hurt.

It didn't matter. He was comfortable, softly contained in a cloud. He didn't need to worry.

Not right now.

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Gibbs sat in the chair they'd provided him and studied his senior agent. The man looked impossibly young as he silently slept. At least it was only a drugged sleep now, and not a coma, Gibbs thought.

Abby's head was nestled into his shoulder, and he could feel her ribs expanding and contracting as she slept. He'd put his arm around her some hours ago; his arm had long since fallen asleep, but he didn't want to move it and wake her.

He took a sip of his cold coffee, and thought about Tony.

The man was going to be alright. He would. Because Gibbs was not going to lose his senior agent, the man who always had his six, who, whether he would admit it or not, lived for Gibbs' approval. Not that Gibbs wanted that, but he did understand, at least partially, where it came from.

He didn't know a lot about DiNozzo's past, but the younger man had let a few tidbits slip here and there over the years they'd worked together. He knew DiNozzo had been disowned as a child, and that his father was a real piece of work. From bits and pieces he'd heard, the man had been extremely rough on his son. Occasionally, usually when DiNozzo was drunk, anecdotes that made Gibbs' stomach twist would come out.

Next to him, Abby stirred. "He any better, Gibbs?" she mumbled sleepily.

"No change, Abs," Gibbs replied. He felt her slide out from under his arm and watched her stand on unsteady feet.

"I need more Caff-Pow," Abby said. "And a bathroom. Not necessarily in that order."

Gibbs nodded. He watched her wobble her way out of Tony's room.

With a sigh, he rubbed his arm, and continued his silent vigil over Tony's sleeping frame. Light from the rising sun crept around the curtains and into the tiny room.

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The pain was returning. His head was starting to throb.

Desperately he tried to remember what had happened. Father must have beaten him, must have really injured him, if he couldn't remember. I'm sorry, he tried to say, but he couldn't hear himself.

Maybe he was still beating him. Maybe that was why everything hurt. Maybe he'd passed out for a minute or two, but now he was coming to.

He couldn't remember what he'd done to merit this beating. It didn't even matter. He would apologize with all his might, and hope for mercy.

Father, I'm sorry, he whimpered. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

"Father, I'm sorry!" he cried.

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The strangled cry from Tony's lips sent Gibbs rocketing to his feet.

"M'sorry!" It was barely intelligible, but Gibbs heard it. Instantly, he was at Tony's side.

"DiNozzo? DiNozzo, can you hear me?" Gibbs asked, putting his hand on Tony's shoulder. The younger man flinched.

"Please, Father. I'm so sorry," Tony whimpered. "Ow!"

Gibbs hit the call button and released Tony's shoulder, afraid he was hurting him. "DiNozzo, it's me. Can you hear me?"

Suddenly, Tony's eyes popped open. He was breathing hard. His heart rate had jumped considerably on the monitor. "DiNozzo?" Gibbs said.

Tony's eyes were focused on Gibbs own, and Gibbs felt relief he wouldn't have admitted. He watched as Tony opened his mouth.

"Who...are you?"


	2. Memories

"He doesn't recognize me, Duck," Gibbs said into the phone.

"He's only just regained consciousness, Jethro," Ducky said as soothingly as he could. "It might just be that he's confused. You said the doctors are in with him now?"

"Yeah. You coming?"

"I should arrive shortly. Try to remain calm, my friend."

Gibbs hung up. Remain calm? Tony hadn't recognized him.

In shock, Gibbs had said, "DiNozzo, it's Gibbs. Are you with me?"

Tony's eyes had been wary and confused. "Am I...what happened?" he asked.

"You got hit in the head. But Ziva got the perp. He's in custody now. You've been out of it overnight," Gibbs said. "Abby will be glad to see you're awake, DiNozzo." He was glad to see him awake.

Tony's eyes narrowed. "Who...who are you? How do you know my name?" he asked. "What's going on?"

Gibbs couldn't believe what he was hearing. Suddenly, a nurse came in. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"He's awake," Gibbs said, and then walked out, feeling like he'd been the one struck in the head.

Now he paced back and forth, anxiety pressing on his mind.

DiNozzo didn't remember him? It seemed impossible. They'd worked together for years now. And he hadn't remembered. What should he have done? Maybe Ducky was right; maybe he was just confused. Or, DiNozzo being DiNozzo, maybe he was playing a trick. Maybe Gibbs would walk back in there and Tony would laugh and say, "Gotcha, Boss," and Gibbs would give him a light tap on the head, (since he had a concussion, he couldn't give his usual full force head-slap) and everything would be normal again.

That was more likely. Gibbs shook his head. If DiNozzo was trying to pull one over on him, he was going to be on desk duty for as long as Gibbs could stretch it. He turned back and went into DiNozzo's room.

A doctor stood at DiNozzo's bedside, asking questions. Gibbs stilled himself in the doorway, listening.

"Let's try an easier one. Do you know the year?" the doctor asked.

"The year? 1982," he heard DiNozzo answer with absolute confidence.

"1982," the doctor repeated steadily. "And your age?"

"Eleven," DiNozzo replied.

Gibbs couldn't take this. "Cut the crap, DiNozzo," he barked, walking into the room. "I'm about to stick your ass on desk duty until 2020."

The doctor held out her hand, as if she was holding Gibbs back. "Agent Gibbs, I'd appreciate it if you would allow me to talk to Anthony without interrupting."

Gibbs tightened his jaw, and crossed his arms over his chest. The doctor returned to her questions.

"Eleven. And do you know where you are?"

"The hospital," DiNozzo said. Gibbs felt the familiar urge to smack the younger man in the head, and he forcefully suppressed it.

"The city?" the doctor queried.

The answers and the questions became more and more unbelievable. Gibbs spun on his heel to leave the room and nearly ran over Abby and Ducky, who stood watching in the doorway.

Ducky intercepted Gibbs with a hand to the shoulder. "Come with me, my friend," he said. His other hand landed lightly on Abby's shoulder; she nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't move.

Gibbs allowed Ducky to pull him into the hall. "What is going on with him, Duck?" he burst out. "Why is he answering her questions like that?"

Ducky's mouth tightened into a straight line, and his head ducked as his eyes dropped briefly to the floor. "I am afraid, my dear Jethro," he said, his eyes sad, "that he indeed believes every word he's saying."

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Tony lay in the hospital bed, feeling extremely confused. He answered the doctor's questions with half his attention; the rest of his attention was focused on the people standing in his doorway.

Two men stood there, one who was old, and one who was really old. Like, older than his grandfather.. And then there was a lady, who wasn't that old, and was dressed kind of funny, with black pigtails. She was too old for pigtails, though, Tony thought. And the knee socks too.

The younger of the two men looked angry. He'd yelled at him earlier, something that didn't make any sense at all. Desk duty? What did that even mean? And now he was glaring at Tony, even though Tony knew he'd never seen him before in his life. What had he done to make that man so angry at him?

Finally, the doctor stopped talking. "Alright, Anthony. I'll be back later. Are you comfortable?"

Tony nodded. The nurse had put something into the iv in his arm, and he had nothing to complain about. His head didn't even hurt anymore.

The doctor left, and the angry man followed her out of the room. He could hear the man's voice echo in from the hallway. "What the hell is going on with him?"

The doctor's answering words were a murmur, and Tony turned his attention to the two people who remained in his room. "Can I help you?" he asked, just like his father had taught him.

The lady's eyes suddenly welled up. "You really don't remember me, Tony?" she asked.

Tony studied her, but there wasn't anything familiar about her. Was she a friend of his mother's, maybe? "Are you a friend of Mother's?" he asked politely.

Apparently it wasn't the right thing to say, because the lady whirled around and ran out of the room. Tony watched her go, his forehead creasing.

"I'm sorry," he offered to the old man who remained. The man smiled at him, but he looked sad too.

"Anthony, I'm Dr. Donald Mallard. My friends call me 'Ducky.' Do you, perchance, remember me?"

Tony shook his head. The man, Ducky, nodded.

"That is quite all right, my dear boy. We'll give things time."

Tony's confusion continued to build. "What's going on, Doctor?" he asked.

The doctor sighed. "I think I shall wait to talk to your main doctor before we discuss that. And do call me Ducky."

"Okay," Tony said. He had one more question, and somehow, this kindly old gentleman seemed like a safe person to ask. "Am I in trouble, Ducky?"

Ducky's kind eyes turned to meet his own. "No, Anthony."

"But that other man...he was mad at me. What did I do?"

"Jethro isn't angry with you. Don't worry yourself; everything will get figured out. Now, I'm sure you're tired, what with the bump to the head you took. Perhaps if you shut your eyes, you could get some more rest?" The man's hand patted his own.

Tony jumped. His hand was big. Big and hairy! What had happened to him? What was wrong with his hand? His arm? It was like the arm of a grown-up! "What...what happened? My arm! It's—what's--"

He could feel the hysteria mounting inside himself, and he tried to push it aside, but it refused to budge. He started to breathe hard.

"Oh, dear," Ducky said. He pressed a button on the side of the bed, and a nurse came in. Her eyes took in the situation all at once.

"Shh, take some deep breathes," she said in a steady voice. He saw her hands preparing something as she talked.

"My arm!" Tony gasped. "My hand! It's—what's wrong with it? It's like a grown-up's!"

The nurse didn't reply directly, but instead put a needle into the tube on his iv and started to push the plunger. "It'll be okay, Anthony," she said.

Whatever she'd put in there hit him hard, and he felt his body sag against the bed. "No...it's..." He couldn't find the words to finish his sentence.

As his eyes began to shut, he saw Ducky, still watching him with a worried look on his face. "Don't worry, Anthony," he echoed the nurse. "Everything will be..."

Tony drifted off.

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"He believes what he's saying?" Gibbs, Abby, and Ducky were all sitting in a small waiting area. Abby sipped her Caff-Pow with wide eyes. "I mean, he really doesn't recognize any of us, Ducky?" She sounded like a little girl.

Ducky sighed, folding his hands on the table top. "He was panicking when he saw his own arm. I believe he truly expected himself to be eleven, in an eleven-year-old body, and of course, that isn't so. But when he saw the evidence of that, well...I would say he had an panic attack."

"Why, Duck?" Gibbs asked. His face was locked in a grimace.

"I cannot say for sure; I can only speculate," Ducky replied.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, a sure sign he wanted Ducky to do so.

"Perhaps the injuries caused to his brain by the blunt force trauma caused partial amnesia. He can remember certain events, up to a certain time, but after that..." Ducky trailed off.

"So, you're saying he only remembers things up to 1982? When he was eleven?" Abby asked. "So that makes him think he's...really eleven?"

"What are we supposed to do?" Gibbs asked. "Treat him like he's eleven?" God knows Tony could act like an eleven year old sometimes, but if he actually believed himself to be eleven...Gibbs felt a headache starting right between his eyes.

"It's truly best if he can recover his memories without us 'planting' them. That is, we can tell him about ourselves, but we shouldn't tell _him_ about _himself_. So, for a time, I suppose that will be the answer." Ducky's reply was not what Gibbs wanted to hear.

Gibbs sighed. Abby sat up very straight. "It's okay for me to introduce myself, right?" she said.

Ducky nodded. "Yes, yes, of course, my dear."

"Well, good. As soon as he wakes up, I'm going to introduce myself, and tell him all about my job at NCIS. Maybe it'll get his brain to remember something. Right?" She was practically begging.

"It can't hurt, Abigail. And you must introduce yourself as well, Jethro. Anthony is under the impression that he has made you angry in some way, and he doesn't understand why. You need to let him know that you aren't angry with him. After all," and here Ducky paused for a moment, "you are his next of kin."

"What exactly does that mean, Duck?" Gibbs asked. The way Ducky had said that did not sound good.

"I suppose," Ducky replied slowly, "if Anthony doesn't regain his memories very quickly, it means that you will have an eleven-year-old to take care of."

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When Tony came to, the first thing he saw was black pigtails, framing a pale face with big eyes. The lady from earlier smiled at him.

"Hi, Tony. I'm Abby. Abby Scuito. Are you feeling any better?"

Tony blinked a couple of times. "Uh...I don't know." It was the truth. He still felt kind of foggy. "I'm...uh...I feel weird."

"That's probably because of the lorazepam they gave you," the woman named Abby said confidently. "It should wear off pretty quickly."

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked. Abby was so cheerful; there was nothing to fear from her. Even if she was dressed kind of weird.

She bit her lip for a moment, and then seemed to come to a decision. She nodded, almost to herself.

"You got hit in the head," she said. "With a...with an object. You were unconscious for a while. And then you woke up."

So he had been beaten, then. "I don't remember," he said truthfully.

"I know," Abby replied. "But maybe you will, after awhile." She grabbed his hand.

"How come you're here? And those two men?" He suddenly realized how rude that sounded. "Not to be impolite," he added. "I just...I don't remember you. Where are..." Tony stopped himself.

Abby looked at him. "Where are...?" she repeated.

"Are my parents here?" he asked in a small voice, knowing the answer already.

Abby shook her head. "No, Tony." She looked sad for a moment. Then she seemed to wipe it away. "But Gibbs and me and Ducky are here, and Ziva and Tim should be here later, to see how you're doing."

"Gibbs? Ziva? Tim? Who are they?" Tony asked.

"Uh...Gibbs is like...well, he's Gibbs, you know? Of course you don't," she answered her own question. "He's like, um...well, he's my boss. And Ziva and Tim are our...my co-workers. We all work at NCIS."

"NCIS?" Tony repeated.

"Naval criminal investigative services," Abby said. "It's a pretty cool job, really. We investigate crimes involving the Navy, and the Marines, stuff like that."

"That sounds awesome," Tony said. Suddenly, he froze. "Wait. Am I being investigated? I didn't mean to do anything wrong."

"No, of course not," Abby said, and she laughed so sincerely that Tony could believe her. "No."

"Well, then, what are you guys doing here?" he asked.

Abby's face went sad again. She gripped Tony's hand hard. "We're just your friends, Tony," she said. "Even if you don't remember us yet."

Tony looked at Abby's hand as she held his. His hands were still wrong. Too big. "What happened to me, Abby?" he asked. "My hands..."

"It's okay, Tony," she said. "You'll remember. Until then, you just have to trust us that everything is going to be okay."

Tony looked at his giant hand in hers. Trust? How could everything be okay? But Abby squeezed his hand again. "Really, Tony. Trust me," she said.

Tony took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. Abby had to be the sweetest person he'd ever met, and if he could trust anyone...well, it felt okay to trust her. "I trust you."

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Gibbs stood in the doorway, silently watching as Abby chattered at Tony. She held his hand as she told him all about her job, explaining what a 'mass spectrometer' was. Tony was reacting to what she said with the wide eyed fascination of, well, a young boy. It made Gibbs tighten his jaw. That wasn't a faked reaction; even Tony DiNozzo was not that good of an actor. He surely would have grown tired of the ruse by now.

Gibbs swallowed a sigh, and turned towards Ducky. "Well?" he asked his friend.

"Right behind you, Jethro," Ducky assured. "Go on."

"Really? You can tell if somebody killed someone by their spit?" Tony sounded absolutely amazed.

"Any bodily fluid, really," Abby said. "But yeah."

"That's so cool!"

Gibbs walked up behind Abby. She turned her head. "Hi, Gibbs. I was just telling Tony about work."

Gibbs nodded curtly. "DiNozzo?" he said.

He saw Tony shrink backwards into the bed, his face going still and blank, and he mentally cursed himself. He wasn't doing this right. Just because he saw his senior agent, and knew him, didn't mean that DiNozzo knew him. In fact, if Ducky and that other doctor were right, DiNozzo thought he was eleven. Was eleven, for all practical purposes. He had to treat DiNozzo like...like he'd treat a kid. Like he'd treat a kid he was meeting for the first time. Like a vic.

He softened his voice. "Tony?" he tried again.

Tony's eyes were suspicious. "Sir?" he replied in a cautious voice. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Gibbs said. "You don't remember me, do you?" He kept his voice calm.

"No sir," Tony replied. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Gibbs said. He cut himself off before he could finish his standard reply. Instead he changed directions. "I'm Abby's boss, as I'm sure she told you."

"Yes sir," Tony said. He still sounded so cautious. "Am I in trouble, sir?"

"No, Tony," Gibbs said.

"Does that mean I'm going to go home soon?" Tony asked. Gibbs saw the smallest amount of hope mix with fear in his eyes. He could almost see the little boy that Tony had been, and it tugged at the heart he claimed he didn't have.

"Uh, well, that's up to the doctors," Gibbs replied, not completely sure how to answer that question.

"Does that mean..." Tony trailed off.

"Does that mean what?" Gibbs prompted, like he would any reluctant child. He cursed mentally again as he realized he was starting to think of Tony like a kid. But the man was acting like a kid, like Gibbs had seen many scared, hurt kids act when they were hospitalized, and it pulled out his parenting instincts against his will.

"Abby said that my parents weren't here," Tony said. "But I thought, maybe...maybe that meant that they'd come." His words were quiet.

How the hell was he supposed to deal with that one? DiNozzo's mother was long dead, and his father was his father. Gibbs was at a loss for words.

Tony seemed to see that. "It's okay," he said. "I know. They're very busy." His face was blank.

"You'll probably be in the hospital for a couple of days yet," Gibbs said finally.

"Yeah," Tony said in a small voice.

"Hey," Gibbs said. "It's okay, Tony. I've got your six, okay?"

Tony screwed up his eyes. "My 'six'?" he queried.

"If it comes down to it, you can come stay with me, okay? Things will be all right." Gibbs managed to smile at the man, the kid, in the hospital bed.

Tony didn't look convinced. "But..." he said.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "But...?" he prompted again.

"Um...I don't really know you, sir," Tony said, his tone polite but nervous.

"Maybe not," Gibbs said after a moment, "but I know you. And you do know me. You just don't remember yet. And don't call me sir."

Tony didn't look convinced. Abby squeezed Tony's hand again. "You don't need to be scared of Gibbs, Tony," she said. "He might seem kind of rough on the outside, but he's a big softy where it matters," she said, winking. Gibbs scowled at her, but she ignored him.

Tony looked at Abby, and set his shoulders. "Okay," he said finally.

"Okay," Gibbs said. "Listen, I'm going to go get a coffee. Caff-Pow, Abs?" he asked.

"Do you really need to ask?" she replied with an impish grin. She freed her hand briefly from Tony's and surreptitiously signed, _Go. I'll take care of him_. Gibbs nodded.

"I'll see you later," he said to them both, and then made a sharp turn and retreated from Tony's room, nearly plowing over an uncharacteristically silent Ducky.

Outside the door, he leaned against the wall. He couldn't believe this was happening. Ducky was right. If Tony didn't start remembering things soon, he really was going to have a kid on his hands.

Tony DiNozzo could be torture as an adult. Gibbs didn't even want to think about the kind of childish antics Tony DiNozzo age eleven could get into.

Gibbs didn't pray much, but he made a quick exception. "God, please let him remember," he muttered under his breath. "I don't know if I can handle an eleven year old DiNozzo."


	3. Reactions

The nurse smiled at him. "It's okay, Tony," she said. "All finished now."

Tony couldn't smile back. At least it was done, but he'd been so embarrassed when the nurse had come in and said she was going to take his catheter out. "Catheter?" he'd asked.

"When you were unconscious, you were catheterized, but now that you're awake, you'll be able to use the restroom, so we're going to take it out." She'd been matter-of-fact about it, sliding a curtain around his bed. "It'll just take a moment."

Tony had been confused; what was a catheter, exactly? And then the nurse had pulled the sheets up to his waist, and he realized that he was only wearing a hospital gown, and he had said, "Wait."

She'd looked at him, and he had felt himself blushing. "Uh, I don't have any underwear on," he said.

"I'll find you some after I take the catheter out," she'd said. And then she'd pulled up his gown.

He'd thought he would die of embarrassment. She was touching him. Down _there_. He knew she was a nurse, and so it wasn't wrong or anything, but that didn't mean it wasn't embarrassing. And whatever she was doing felt weird. "Ouch!" he'd yelped.

And then it was done, and she'd covered him up again.

"Okay, Tony, do you need anything?" she asked. He shook his head, wishing he could bury his blushing face under the covers.

"All right then. You know where the button is." She left his room.

Now that he was alone, he succumbed to the urge to hide his face. His father would be angry if he knew Tony was acting like such a baby, but his father wasn't there. And so he hid.

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"You okay, Tony?" Gibbs asked, walking into the room to find his senior agent's blankets pulled over his head.

Tony jerked the blankets down. There was a stricken look on his face. His eyes didn't quite meet Gibbs', instead looking somewhere in the general vicinity of his navel. "I'm sorry, sir," he said.

"Don't apologize," Gibbs said automatically. "And don't call me sir. Why would you be sorry, anyway?"

Tony's shoulders raised to his ears, and then dropped back down.

"That's not really an answer," Gibbs said, and he pulled one of the chairs up to the bed. He sank down into it with a sigh. When he looked back up at DiNozzo, the man's face was still. Blank again. Shit. What had he said wrong now? "DiNozzo?" he asked.

"Yes sir." The man's voice was mechanical.

"Don't call me sir," Gibbs repeated. Tony didn't say anything. Gibbs sighed.

"Listen, Tony. Ducky and I have been talking with Dr. McDermon, and he thinks you could go home tomorrow, if the CAT scan you're going to get shows improvement." Gibbs looked at the man in the bed. He looked small and nervous. "So, uh, I'm going to go home and get the guest room ready for you, but Ducky and Abby and Ziva and McGee will be here."

Tony's eyes finally met his, however briefly. "I'm going home with you?" he asked.

"Yeah," Gibbs said.

"But what about my parents?" Tony asked. Again, it struck Gibbs. Eleven. Tony was eleven, at least in his head.

"Sorry, DiNo—Tony. We don't know how to get ahold of them." Technically, Gibbs could get the senior DiNozzo on the phone, but why? Tony was fragile enough, and there was absolutely no reason for Gibbs to think that talking to his father would do anything but cause harm.

He saw Tony eye him again. DiNozzo knew he was being deceptive, Gibbs realized.

"Just relax, okay? Abby and the rest of the gang should be here in a couple of minutes."

Tony nodded once. "Yes sir," he said.

Gibbs let it go. "All right, then. I'll be back later."

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That Gibbs, he must have thought Tony was stupid or something. They didn't know how to get his parents on the phone? Tony might not remember some things, at least according to all these people, but one thing he did remember was his own telephone number.

He read the instructions on the telephone by his bed, and then dialed his parents' number. All he heard was beeping. He hung up the phone and thought for a second.

Wait a second. Maybe this hospital was long distance or something. That would be something his father would have thought of, to send his son to a hospital far enough from home that no one would know who Anthony DiNozzo Jr. was.

He followed the instructions for long distance calls. It rang twice, and then his father's familiar voice filled the phone. "Hello?" he said.

"Father?" Tony was cautious. "Father, it's Anthony."

"I don't have a son named Anthony," his father said curtly.

"What? Father, it's me. Please. I'm in the hospital."

To his surprise, his father had not hung up the phone. He could hear his breathing.

"What's wrong with you?"

So Father was going to play that game. "I don't know, sir," he said. "But sir, they want to send me home tomorrow. Are you and Mother going to come get me?" He tried not to sound like he was begging.

"You ungrateful bastard." The words were snapped out, and then Tony heard a click and a dial tone. He held the phone to his ear for a long moment, not comprehending. He knew he wasn't his father's favorite person, but why would he say he didn't even have a son named Anthony?

Slowly, he dropped the receiver into the cradle. He could feel tears prick at his eyes, but he forced them back. He pressed the nurse call button.

Another woman came in, thankfully not the same nurse as earlier. "Yes?" she asked.

"Can I maybe take a shower please, ma'am?" he asked.

"You'll have to sit," she said. "We don't want to risk a fall. And I'll have to wrap that IV in plastic. But yes, you can shower. I'll get you the stuff, okay?"

Tony nodded, and she left the room. He leaned back against his pillows, and forced the tears back again. He could cry in the shower. But he wouldn't cry here, where someone could see him. DiNozzos didn't do that, ever.

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He had a guest room. Why, he didn't know; he never had guests. But there had to be one under all this crap somewhere.

Finally, he found the bed, piling the things he'd been storing on top of it into the hall closet. He'd clean that up eventually. He made it briskly, folding neat square corners and shaking pillows into clean pillow cases. He surveyed his work and nodded. Good enough.

The room was nice, he had to admit. He'd had a fling with a lady from another team, and they'd done it up, painting the walls a cool blue, putting up curtains with a marina theme, and adding a couple other 'homey' touches. It had been their little project. He still remembered her fondly; she'd transferred to be an agent afloat, and they didn't keep in touch. She probably wasn't an agent afloat anymore, he mused. That had been a good six or seven years ago.

Well, it would work for DiNozzo for a while, at least. Now, he'd better get back to the hospital, and see how his agent was doing.

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They'd given him a razor. When he'd first seen himself in the mirror, he realized why. And it scared him.

He was old! His face was like, forty. At least. And it was covered with short, bristly hair. He'd never even shaved in his life, unless you counted when he was five and stole his father's razor. He'd cut his face, and then he'd gotten a whipping for touching his father's things. He winced, remembering the sharp agony of his father's leather belt.

What on earth had happened to him? He tried not to panic. Abby was a nice lady, and she said that he just had to trust her, trust them. And he'd said he would.

He managed to shave the hair off, but it took a long time. He cut himself a bunch of times, but he didn't quit. He couldn't stand looking at himself. It was scary, like "Invasion of the Body-Snatchers" only it was more like "Invasion of the Body-Switchers."

Finally, he was finished. His face wasn't all hairy anymore, although blood from half a dozen cuts was smeared on his face and lips. He scrubbed it off with a towel, but the blood just popped back up.

He still barely recognized himself. He was so...big. He had big shoulders and arms and hands, big feet. This couldn't be his body. What had happened? Last thing he'd remembered, he'd been a skinny kid, with hair in a bowl cut, and now he was...ancient.

He remembered something his forth grade teacher, Ms. Daniels, used to say. "It's not what's on the outside, but what's on the inside that counts." His father had snorted and said, "Bullshit," when Tony had echoed her words at the dinner table one night, but Tony still remembered. And right now, it was something important for him to hold on to. He might look like an old guy, but no matter what, he was still Tony DiNozzo.

Still, he looked away from the mirror as he got dressed in fresh scrubs and combed his hair. He didn't want to look at himself like that; not right now.

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When Gibbs walked into DiNozzo's room, he stopped cold.

He'd seen DiNozzo in many situations. He'd seen him look sick before, hurt, vulnerable, and even young. But he'd never, ever seen him look like this.

He must have taken a shower because his hair was wet, and he was dressed in a pair of scrubs, curled up on his side. In his arms, he held a pillow. Gibbs' mind flashed to a memory of Kelly at eight or nine, lying in bed in almost the exact same position, her arms wrapped around a Strawberry Shortcake doll.

The boy—man, Gibbs corrected himself—had his knees pressed into his chest, and Gibbs could only see one side of his face. They must have given him a razor because the stubble was gone, but so was some skin. But between the body posture and the smooth face, without even a hint of stubble, Tony looked amazingly young.

With nearly silent footsteps, Gibbs moved to the chair at the side of Tony's bed and sat down. He looked at the boy's—man's—scrub-covered back. Why was he suddenly thinking of Tony as a boy? It must have been from the memory of his own little girl, lying in exactly the same position, he thought. Sleeping peacefully, her face innocent. Tony's face right now was like an odd echo of that long-ago memory.

Gibbs gave a long, drawn out sigh.

Tony popped upright instantly, pushing his arms away from himself. Gibbs heard the soft plop of the pillow hitting the floor. There was a stricken look on Tony's face. "Sir, I'm sorry," he said, not quite looking at Gibbs.

"Don't apologize," Gibbs commanded automatically.

"Yes, sir," Tony said. His voice sounded quietly blank. Gibbs had known before that when Tony got nervous, he would fall into odd patterns of behavior; 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' would automatically come from his mouth, he'd avoid direct eye contact, and be uncharacteristically submissive. But now it hit him that these actions weren't a result of police academy or something like that, but something from Tony's childhood.

"What were you apologizing for?" Gibbs asked. On one hand, it seemed cruel to ask, but on the other, he really wanted to know what Tony thought he had done.

"I behaved childishly, sir. DiNozzos do not behave like children."

That was news to Gibbs. The adult Anthony DiNozzo behaved childishly all the time. But this Anthony DiNozzo, the one that Gibbs kept thinking of as a boy, a child, was very different from his ordinary self.

"How did you behave childishly?" Gibbs asked. He deliberately kept his voice soft and nonthreatening. He didn't want to scare the kid. Dammit. Well, what was the use of fighting how his brain categorized Tony as he was now? Tony thought he was a kid too.

Tony's shoulders tensed. "Please, sir," he said meekly.

"Tony." His voice was neither threatening nor demanding, but there was a very obvious command inherent in the way he said the boy's name. It worked on Tony DiNozzo the adult. What about Tony DiNozzo, the eleven year old?

"I should not have been clutching the pillow. I am much too old to require a security blanket. It is a childish behavior unacceptable for someone my age." There was a wooden quality to the words that suggested that Tony had given this answer, or one very much like it, many times before.

"Someone your age? How old are you?" Tony DiNozzo the man would find that an odd question; he knew well that Gibbs knew how old he was.

But this Tony, his voice still wooden, replied, "Eleven, sir."

Gibbs hid his grimace and reached for Tony's shoulder. The boy flinched hard, and Gibbs held his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. "I didn't mean to scare you, Tony," he said softly. "I just wanted you to know that it's okay. I won't hold it against you if you want to hang on to a pillow. Eleven's not that old." Again, the picture of Kelly, sleeping peacefully with her arms wrapped around her doll flashed through his mind.

Tony's eyes brushed Gibbs' for a fraction of a second. Gibbs nodded, then stood. He could feel Tony watching him as he walked around the bed, picking the pillow Tony had shoved away so violently. He gave it a couple of swipes with his hand to brush off the dust, then handed it back to Tony, who took it reluctantly as though Gibbs was offering him a snake.

"I meant what I said, Tony," Gibbs said. "Just relax, okay? Try to get some sleep."

"Yes, sir," Tony replied, although he didn't sound quite so blank and wooden anymore. He watched Gibbs more openly now.

"I'm going to go get some coffee and talk with Ducky and Abby and the rest." Very carefully, Gibbs reached out and put his hand lightly on Tony's shoulder. "I'll be back, okay?"

Tony nodded. "Yes sir," he whispered.

"Good boy," Gibbs replied. He left the room, his mind boggling. How on earth had the Tony DiNozzo he knew and cared about come from the frightened, stiff child in that room?

He needed to talk with Ducky.

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"He hasn't shared much of his past with me, Jethro. You know Anthony; he always tries to play the, oh, what do they call it? Big man on campus." Ducky spoke precisely, wishing he could help his friend more than he was. "I've never seen the side of Anthony that we're seeing now. Frankly, I find it disturbing as well."

"Duck, that _kid_ in there doesn't resemble the Anthony DiNozzo I know at all." The frustration was apparent in Gibbs' voice.

"Well, the Anthony we know is a grown man, Jethro. But as you pointed out, this Anthony is, for all practical purposes, a child. He hasn't had the time or experiences. Well, he has, but he doesn't remember them, which in effect makes it as though they haven't occurred. You ought to remember this, Jethro. When you were injured--"

"Stop," Gibbs said. His face was still and cold. Ducky could see he had hit a sore spot.

"I apologize, my friend. All I am saying is that he _isn't_ the Anthony we know and love. Not yet." Ducky patted Gibbs' shoulder. "Give him time, Jethro. He'll be back eventually."

"Do you really believe that, Duck?" The glare and harsh tone the man gave him, Ducky knew, was covering up fear and worry.

"Yes." Ducky kept his reply short.

"Why?" Gibbs asked.

"You did," Ducky said simply. There was more to it than that, of course, but Gibbs didn't enjoy highly technical explanations.

Gibbs didn't lose the glare, but some of the lines around his eyes and forehead relaxed ever-so-slightly. He gave Ducky a nod. "Thanks, Duck."

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Tony watched the cartoons. The Flintstones were his favorite. There had been a 'marathon' of Flintstones cartoons. He liked this 'marathon' idea.

This wasn't so bad, actually. He hadn't liked the MRI; the small space made him feel like his body was going to burst out of its skin, and it had been so noisy. But at least that part was over. And he liked being able to watch cartoons as much as he wanted.

A doctor came into his room, Gibbs on his heels. Tony sat up straight, fumbling with the remote to turn off the cartoons. Would Gibbs be mad?

"Relax, Tony," Gibbs said. He didn't sound mad. Slowly, Tony sank back into the bed, still watching the two men standing at the foot of his bed.

"Well, I have good news for you, Anthony," the doctor said. He was smiling.

Tony just waited. The doctor cleared his throat.

"Tomorrow, you can go home with Mr. Gibbs—"

"Agent Gibbs," Gibbs interjected.

"Agent Gibbs," the doctor corrected himself, "and continue to recover there."

Tony felt his eyes widen, and he quickly clamped down. But his stomach was suddenly full of butterflies.

"You'll be out of here by eleven tomorrow," the doctor continued. "Good luck, Anthony."

Good luck? Yeah, he'd need it.


	4. Wariness

"Oh my goodness. I can't believe that you're getting out of here already. I mean, you were in a coma. That's pretty serious, you know? And here you are, going home." Abby's voice was perky and fast.

"Technically, Abby, he's not going home," the man Abby had introduced as Tim McGee said. He had nodded and said, "Just McGee. Or Tim, I guess." The man had looked uncomfortable. "He's going to Gibbs' house."

Tony watched as Abby punched McGee in the arm. "McGee!" she cried. "You be nice to Tony. He's having a rough time."

"He was not being un-nice," protested the woman Abby had said was named Ziva in a crisp, funny accent. "He merely stated a fact."

"Yeah, well, Gibbs' home is going to be Tony's home for awhile, so you have to be _nicer_, McGee." Abby's reply was instant.

"Tony's not exactly the n—" Whatever McGee had been about to say was cut off by a sharp look from Abby. Instead, the man just sighed. "Alright, Abs."

"That's better," Abby said with satisfaction.

Ducky entered Tony's room, pushing a wheelchair. "I've managed to procure a wheelchair, Anthony. And it's a good thing. Why, once in med school, mind you, this was ages ago, before they made everyone who left a hospital leave by wheelchair, in med school, a patient who had been in overnight was walking out, and he fainted suddenly, breaking his arm when he fell. It was a rather nasty break, too—a compound fracture, if I remember correctly." He bent down, putting on the brakes.

"Then it is fortunate that you managed to find one," Ziva said. "The last thing that we need is for Tony to break again."

"Tony's not broken, Ziva," Abby protested. "He's just, um, banged up a little."

Tony wanted to agree with Abby, but considering that he was supposed to know everyone in this room and he didn't, well...he might be broken.

"Come now, my dear boy. Have a seat," Ducky said kindly, gesturing to the wheelchair. "We'll have you out of here momentarily."

"Yes sir," Tony said. He stood from his seat on the edge of the hospital bed and walked over to the wheelchair, awkwardly clambering inside. His limbs were too long; it made it difficult for him to judge how much room he needed anywhere.

As he sat, he caught the tail end of a look exchanged between Ziva and Tim. It was a puzzled look. Tony frowned. What had he missed now?

"Alright. Let's go." Gibbs voice boomed from the doorway, startling Tony. The man strode into the room and walked behind him. He felt Gibbs kick at the brakes on the wheelchair, and then they were moving.

He felt his insides begin to churn. What was he getting into?

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Gibbs pulled into his driveway and looked in his rear view mirror. His eyes lit on Tony first, who was slumped next to the window, a worried wrinkle between his eyes. Abby sat next to him, holding his hand in hers. They locked eyes, and she gave him a wistful little smile. He sighed.

Then he looked at the procession behind them. Ziva and McGee were in the next car, and even from here it was obvious that they were squabbling. Probably about Ziva's driving; she'd won the wrestling match for the keys, and McGee's nauseous face said that he'd fight harder next time.

Ducky pulled up in his Morgan and parked it carefully on the street. Gibbs watched as his friend emerged, looking a bit ruffled. "Ziva, my dear, driving like that is quite likely to shorten your lifespan. Why, I've seen—"

Gibbs tuned him out, and turned his attention back to his backseat. "We're here," he said, watching Tony's face. It went very still.

"Come on, Tony. You'll like Gibbs' house. He builds boats in the basement." Abby tugged on Tony's hand, sliding him across the seat and out the door with her.

"Be careful, Abby. He just got out of the hospital," Gibbs said, but it was useless. Abby was yanking him up to the house, digging the hidden key out from under the rock next to the door. He watched the two of them disappear into the house.

With a sigh, Gibbs got out of the car, shutting the door behind him. He looked over his co-workers. "I've got him from here," he said. "Go to work. Get something productive done."

Ziva raised an eyebrow. "Will you be coming to work today, Gibbs?" she asked.

Gibbs shook his head. "DiNozzo needs a babysitter," he said. He watched McGee fight a grin, and turned to him. "Are you volunteering, McGee?"

"No, Boss," McGee said, his face going sober.

Gibbs nodded, hiding a smirk of his own. "Go," he said. "Call me if something comes up."

"Yes, Gibbs," McGee and Ziva said in unison. Then McGee made a poorly timed lunge for the keys in Ziva's hand. He missed.

"I am driving," Ziva said. "Let us go." She turned on her heel. McGee followed after her, his shoulders slumped.

Gibbs turned to Ducky. "Well, Duck? Any words of wisdom for me?"

Ducky put his hand on Gibbs' shoulder. "You have been a father before, Jethro," he said. "I am sure you possess all the wisdom you'll need."

A picture of Kelly, laughing and running to his arms, flashed through his mind. Gibbs sighed. DiNozzo and his current problem were a whole different story.

It was good that Ducky was sure that he could handle this, but Gibbs wasn't.

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Abby held Tony's hand tightly. "You want to see the boat? It's in the basement." Maybe it would jog his memory, she thought. It couldn't hurt, anyway.

Tony looked wary. "Um," he said.

Abby decided for him. "Come on. It's cool. You'll like it." She pulled him down the hallway to the door to the basement.

Tony froze at the top of the stairs. His eyes were wide. Abby stopped.

"Tony? Are you okay? You look kind of upset." He looked scared, actually. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Tony look so blatantly afraid. Maybe never. She watched him.

His eyes flitted to hers. "Can I please see it later?" he asked in a weak voice. "I feel tired."

"Of course. I'm so sorry, Tony. I didn't even think. Of course you're tired; you've been in the hospital. I've only been in the hospital a few times, but it always made me tired. I think it's because you spend all that time laying down, you know? Which is weird, because laying down is supposed to make you un-tired, but it does the opposite for me." Abby knew she was babbling, but Tony was making her nervous. And she babbled when she was nervous. "Come on. Gibbs told me that you'd be staying in the guest room. I don't know why he's got a guest room; as far as I know he's never had any guests. But maybe he's got some kind of secret life. Wouldn't that be weird? Imagine, Gibbs with guests. Come on."

Tony followed her docilely as she led him further down the hall, to the door at the end. She opened it, and stopped, surprised. It was clean. And homey-looking. "Wow," she said. She turned back to Tony. "Last time I saw this room, it was piled to the ceiling with junk. He must have really cleaned to get it ready for you. Wonder where he put everything? There's probably a closet somewhere that's so full you'd be buried in stuff if you opened it. Okay. So do you want to lay down? I mean, look. He even made the bed. Square corners and everything. Once a marine..." She trailed off. Tony had a funny look on his face. "You okay, Tony?"

Tony nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said softly.

"You don't have to call me ma'am, Tony," Abby said. "I'm just Abby." Again, it hit her that even though Tony looked like his usual self, he wasn't. Tony had never, not even in jest, called her 'ma'am' before. "Come on. I'll tuck you in."

Tony's eyes widened. "You don't need to do that," he said. His voice was cautious.

"I insist. Come on." Abby turned back the blankets. "Get into bed, okay?" He was still dressed in scrubs from the hospital; his suit had been lost in the chaos of the E.R. as they had worked to assess his injuries. Tony hadn't said a word about it, another bad sign in Abby's opinion. The Tony she know would have thrown a fit that his expensive suit was gone.

"Yes ma'—Abby," Tony said.

She watched him settle into the bed, curling into a ball on his side. She pulled the covers over him and smoothed them out. "You okay, Tony?"

"Yes," Tony said with a little nod. He looked so vulnerable. She sighed and touched his face gently.

"Alright. Go to sleep, then. Sleep makes everything better." Impulsively, Abby bent and kissed Tony's temple.

Tony blushed. It made her smile.

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Gibbs sat in the kitchen, staring at a cup of coffee. He watched the steam rise, thinking.

Tony was a mess. No matter what Ducky said, Gibbs wasn't exactly sure how to handle this. Yeah, he had been a parent. He had instincts, general knowledge, but he'd never been in charge of an eleven year old in a man's body before. What could prepare you for that?

He heard clunky footsteps in the hallway, and looked up to see Abby walk into the kitchen. He gave her a half smile. "How's he doing, Abs?" he asked.

Abby sighed, blowing her bangs up. "Well, he's not exactly like Tony," she said. "I think I scared him."

"What did you do?" Abby wasn't exactly a frightening person. He watched her expectantly.

"I wanted to show him your boat. I mean, boys and their toys, you know?" Gibbs gave her a glare, but as usual, she ignored it. "And he just froze at the top of the stairs, looking scared to death. Said he was tired. So I put him to bed instead." Her hands started to move. Gibbs watched her say,_ I've never seen him look like that. _"I felt bad that I scared him, but I couldn't figure out how. Why?"

Gibbs shook his head. "I don't know, Abs," he said. Roughly he signed back, _Is he sleeping?_

"Yes," Abby said. "Oh. And he called me ma'am, which might have been the weirdest thing of all. I mean, Tony? Calling _me_ ma'am? He's like my brother. And it wasn't like he was joking either."

"I think," Gibbs said, "that for a while, he's going to have to be your younger brother."

"It's weird, Gibbs," she said. _ I want him back._

_Me too, _Gibbs signed. "We'll get him back," he said aloud.

"In one piece?" Abby asked.

Gibbs didn't know how to answer that one in any language. He sighed and took a sip of his coffee.

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Tony lay in bed, his eyes shut. He was thinking.

Abby had been so nice to him. When she'd pulled him to the basement and opened the door, he'd looked down those stairs and an old memory had hit him.

He'd ran away from his father and his belt, trying to hide. But he was only a little boy, and of course Father had caught up with him. His hand around Tony's arm had hurt.

"How dare you run away from me," his father had boomed. "You want to run? Want to hide like a baby? I'll teach you better than that."

And he'd dragged Tony to the door leading to the basement, Tony's struggles not deterring him in the least. He'd opened the door. "Go down there," he'd hissed. "You can hide in the dark down there all you want." His voice had been cold and cruel.

Tony, afraid of the dark, had cried, "No, Daddy! I'm sorry!"

"Don't call me 'Daddy', and get your ass down there before I push you!" The elder DiNozzo's rage had flared.

"No!" Tony had begged.

And then a shove from his father had propelled him into the darkness and the stairs. Luckily, there had only been five carpeted stairs until the landing, but as Tony had slid painfully down them, it hadn't seemed that lucky.

The slam of the door left him in complete darkness. "When you've learned your lesson, I'll let you out," his father said. Tony had been crumpled, still on the landing, listening to his father's fading footsteps.

He'd never run from a whipping after that. He'd only been five years old at the time.

Tony shook his head, clearing it of ugly memories. Abby was so nice. There was no way she would have pushed him down those stairs. But he'd been afraid, right up until she said, "Of course," in that way of hers, and led him down the hallway to the bed. And then she'd tucked him in, and kissed his face. He couldn't remember the last time someone had tucked him in and kissed him goodnight. His mother had probably done it once, before she'd gotten so involved with the bottle, but he couldn't remember.

How had he gotten the courage to ask to see it later? Usually, he wasn't that brave. But something about Abby made him feel like he could trust her. Maybe that was a little bit of his memory coming back or something. The doctor had said his memories would probably return. He wondered, not for the first time, how someone as nice as Abby had ended up in his life. The life he couldn't remember.

It was too bad, he mused. Because the life he couldn't remember seemed like it had more nice people in it than the life he could.

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Abby had reluctantly left after Gibbs had promised he'd take good care of himself and Tony. "I wouldn't leave," Abby had said, "but the cases are probably piling to the ceiling in the lab, and there is no way I'm having another assistant, not even a temporary one. I am not dealing with another Chip."

Gibbs had nodded and accepted another hug. "Don't worry, Abs. Things will be fine," he'd said.

"I'll come back tomorrow before work, okay?" she'd said.

Gibbs had nodded again. "You're always welcome here," he said.

And so his favorite Goth lab rat had left, and now it was just Tony and him left in his house. He sighed.

Might as well make some lunch.

He pulled out a frozen pizza and unwrapped it from the plastic before popping it into the oven. Then he took a deep breath, and started down the hall to check on DiNozzo.

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When he woke up, Tony was aware that he was lying in a bed. Not his bed, and not the hospital bed either. Another bed, a firm mattress and cool, crisp sheets. The bed Abby had told him to lay down in earlier. The bed in Gibbs' house. He was curled on his side, his knees pulled to his chest. He didn't move, didn't open his eyes.

It was dark now, Tony could tell. Much darker than it had been earlier; no hint of light made him see the red of the back of his eyelids. That made him nervous. He didn't like the dark, never had. But still he didn't move.

After all, if he opened his eyes, he would see, would know without a doubt, that it was pitch-black, and then he couldn't just pretend that his eyes were shut really, really tight. And to get to light, he'd have to move. He'd have to get up, and move through the darkness, to try to find the light switch.

Tony sniffed, and curled himself tighter. He was being a baby. He needed to just get up. If his father knew what was going through his head, he'd be in real trouble right now.

He tried to remember how this had happened. What had happened to him that he would lose his memory? Abby had said he'd been hit in the head. With an object. Desperately, he dug in his memories, looking for something, anything.

In a flash of insight, a memory came back.

_He stood in front of Father's desk in the study after reporting why he had missed school. His body shook with chills, an unpleasant change from the fever that had wracked him earlier. Nevertheless, he stood at attention as best he could, waiting to be dismissed. His father held the bottle of scotch, his expression angry. Tony had poured his first drink; Father was now pouring a second, draining the last of the bottle. _

_Nervous, Tony instinctively apologized. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to inconvenience Mother this way with my illness." Not that his mother had been inconvenienced as far as he could tell; the staff had been the only ones he'd seen all day. But maybe that was still a problem for her? They couldn't help her if they were taking care of him._

"_To hell with your apologies. Do you think that truly makes a difference? All you are is a pain in my ass."_

_Tony swallowed. Father's voice went from hot fury to cold rage. "You little bastard," Father said in that slightly slurred tone that meant danger. "Get out of here, now, before I kill you." The coldness and relative quiet of his tone frightened Tony more than any yelling could. He froze, unable to move. His father meant it._

"_Are you deaf, you little idiot?" Father repeated. "Go! NOW!"_

_His hand moved so fast that Tony only caught a glimmer of glass as it flew through the air, glinting from the light of the fireplace. And then, there was a _s_harp cracking noise, an instant of incredible pain, and then nothing._

So that was what had happened. No wonder he had a concussion; that had been a large bottle of scotch. Even empty, the glass would have been heavy.

Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps in the hallway, so faint he could barely hear them, and then the creaking of squeaky hinges. Tony tensed as light flashed across his face.

"Tony? You awake?" Gibbs' voice was soft. It surprised Tony every time the man talked softly when he'd seemed so rough and angry at their first meeting.

Tony only debated with himself for a second; Gibbs probably knew he was awake, and he'd get in trouble if he didn't acknowledge that. "Yes, sir," he said quietly. He opened his eyes and saw Gibbs' outline in the doorway, one hand on the door frame, the other on the doorknob.

"You wanna come out? I made pizza earlier, but you were asleep."

It didn't sound like an accusation, but you never knew. "I'm sorry, sir," Tony said.

"Don't apologize. Come on." Gibbs hit the light switch, flooding the small room with light. Tony squinted, sitting up.

"Yes sir." Tony got to his feet, again feeling awkward. He was so tall; he felt like Alice in Wonderland after she'd drank that potion. In fact, he was a little bit taller than the man in front of him. It was beyond weird.

"Don't call me sir, Tony. It's Gibbs." Gibbs jerked his head. "Kitchen's this way." He turned and started down the hall.

Tony followed him. The kitchen was small, but brightly lit.

"Take a seat," Gibbs said, gesturing at a small table. There were four chairs; Tony sat in the closest one, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He watched as Gibbs pulled a plate out of the fridge, and put the pizza in the microwave oven.

"Your microwave oven is really nice," Tony said awkwardly. His mother had always told him that it was only polite to compliment people when you visited their home, and so he groped for anything. And the microwave oven was nice; way nicer than the one his folks had. It looked kind of like it had dropped out of "The Jetsons" or something.

Gibbs looked back at him, and raised an eyebrow. "Hmm," he muttered noncommittally. He hit the buttons and Tony watched as the pizza began rotating in the oven.

He jerked his attention away as Gibbs took a seat at the table. The man's face was calm, but Tony felt butterflies awaken in his stomach.

"So this isn't bringing anything back yet, Tony?" Gibbs asked, studying Tony. Tony dropped his eyes, not wanting to be caught looking.

"Hey. Tony, come on. Look at me," Gibbs said. It struck Tony as strange that this man wanted him to look, but Tony followed his orders, cautiously making eye contact, even if it was only for a moment. Then he dropped his gaze to Gibbs' shoulder. "Do you remember anything yet?"

Was that concern in his voice? Tony wasn't sure. He wasn't used to hearing it connected with him, and yet he'd heard it from Abby, and now, maybe, from Gibbs.

"Not really, sir," Tony said. Dang it, Gibbs didn't like to be called sir. "Sorry, sir. I mean, sorry Gibbs. Uh...I..." Belatedly, he remembered the man didn't like apologies either. He winced back into his chair.

"It's okay, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. Tony shuddered. He hated his last name, hated being a DiNozzo and all the pain and responsibility that came with it. "Tony," Gibbs said. "Tony. You don't like being called DiNozzo, do you?"

"It's fine, sir," Tony said.

Gibbs was watching him, though. "No, it's not. I'll remember," he said. Tony wondered if it was a threat, but then Gibbs changed the subject as the microwave oven dinged. "Pizza's warm. Hungry?"

Tony nodded, and Gibbs slid a plate in front of him. He dropped another plate on the table at his place, and took a large bite. They sat in silence as Tony debated whether Gibbs would find it acceptable for Tony to pick up the pizza with his fingers. Well, why not? He had. So Tony picked up a slice cautiously, and took a steaming bite. It was good. They sat, chewing.

Gibbs had eaten a full slice before he spoke again. "Not anything?" he asked. "You don't remember anything at all?"

Tony startled suddenly, and nearly dropped his pizza. Abby had told him he'd been hit in the head. He remembered being hit in the head. The scotch bottle. "I remember a little," he said.

"What?" Gibbs asked. "What do you remember, Tony?" The man's voice was steady, but Tony could see something eager in his eyes.

Afraid to disappoint him, Tony dropped his eyes to the pepperoni and cheese covered slice in front of him. "A sc...a vase," Tony said quietly. "I was sick...my balance was bad, and I tripped and knocked over a vase, and it hit me in the head." He didn't know if Gibbs knew that his father had thrown a bottle of scotch at him, but if he didn't, he wasn't about to tell him. His father would kill him if he found out.

He glanced up to see Gibbs nodding. "A vase, hmm?" he said.

"Yes, sir," Tony replied.

Gibbs nodded again, but as Tony watched him out of the corner of his eyes, he had a sinking feeling that Gibbs didn't believe him, and was disappointed. He tried to ignore it, and took another bite of pizza.


	5. Ferris

Gibbs looked at Tony, who sat tense on the other end of the couch, his spine as straight as a board against the couch's soft back. "Relax, Tony," Gibbs said.

He marveled as Tony's posture changed, and yet he didn't relax. It looked more relaxed, his back actually acquiring a small curve, but Gibbs could still see how stiffly he held himself.

Gibbs sighed, and very obviously turned back to the TV screen. Tony hadn't been as impressed with his television as he'd seemed with his microwave, but then again, the TV was a relic. It was likely as old as Tony really was, or at the very least, as old as McGee.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Tony watched him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Tony look so nervous; usually he was all about nonchalance.

"You ever see this movie before?" Gibbs asked. He knew Tony had seen _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_; he'd chosen it precisely because Tony quoted from it on a regular basis. But Tony shook his head.

"No, sir," he said.

"What do you think of it?" Gibbs asked. He never worked this hard at conversation; usually, Tony was the incessant babbler, and Gibbs would allow a shrug or a nod to convey meaning. But if he did that now, they'd sit in silence, possibly for the rest of Gibbs' natural life. And that wouldn't help Tony remember anything.

Tony's eyes flickered towards Gibbs, and then back to the screen. "It's funny, sir," he said cautiously.

"You're not laughing much," Gibbs observed. He saw Tony's shoulders rise about an inch, and internally, he grimaced. He'd made him nervous again. More nervous. The kid's nerves had to be strung like piano wire by now.

"Sorry, sir," Tony said. It was barely a whisper. Gibbs held back a sigh, and turned his head to look at the kid. His senior agent. Former senior agent. He wanted his agent back.

"Don't apologize, Tony. If you want to laugh, fine. You don't, fine. It's just a movie." Had he ever dealt with a kid this jumpy before? Maybe all those terrified girls Lee had found in a packing crate...but really, it was a close call. "And call me Gibbs. I work for a living."

He saw Tony's Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. "Yes...Gibbs," he said, hesitantly.

Gibbs nodded. He focused his attention back on the screen.

After a few more minutes of Ferris, something caught Gibbs' attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony's posture change again, ever so slightly, and he let out a small sigh of relief.

Tony had sunk about half an inch more deeply into the couch. Finally, he'd relaxed.

**********************************************************************************

He still watched Gibbs out of the corner of his eye, but he allowed most of his attention to go to the screen in front of him. It was a funny movie; Gibbs had chuckled once or twice. That made Tony feel better; he'd never, ever heard his _father_ laugh, especially not at something as silly as this movie.

He watched the two boys on the screen, Ferris, and Cameron, argue about Cameron's father's car. "The 1961 Ferrari 250GT California. Less than a hundred were made. My father spent three years restoring this car. It is his love, it is his passion."

"It is his fault he didn't lock the garage," Ferris said back. Tony giggled.

This movie was great. Why hadn't he ever seen it before?

*****************************************************

The giggle surprised Gibbs.

Now Tony was completely relaxed, all his attention on the movie, and Gibbs studied him more openly.

He wasn't watching it like he ordinarily watched a movie, his lips moving along with the characters', roaring with laughter and wincing with sympathy. But it was obvious that he was enjoying it.

Gibbs stood up. He saw Tony's eyes dart to him, and he stiffened again.

"Relax," Gibbs said. Tony didn't. "I'm gonna make some popcorn," he said, walking around the back of the couch and into the kitchen. He could feel Tony's eyes on his back.

He fiddled around, finding a large pot with a lid and a bottle of vegetable oil. He had a bag or two of microwave popcorn around, but he figured if he wasted enough time in the kitchen, Tony might actually relax again by the time he brought the popcorn in. So he puttered, pouring kernels into the oil and waiting.

He'd made popcorn for Kelly and Shannon like this; they'd watch a movie together, curled up on the couch, while he held the popcorn in a giant bowl in his lap. He remembered when Kelly was six or seven, and popcorn been a magical experience, like snowflakes. "Look, Daddy," she had said. "It doesn't look like any other piece of popcorn in the whole bowl!" And then she'd put it on her tongue and pretend it was melting, like snow.

He missed his girls. Both of them.

Amidst the sounds of popcorn popping, he heard another giggle from the living room.

He poured the popcorn into two large bowls and, balancing them against his chest, made his way back into the living room.

He stayed quiet, standing in the doorway balancing the bowls and watching Tony watch the movie. It was good to see him look more like the man he knew who would flop down bonelessly on his couch than the tense little boy who seemed afraid that the couch would swallow him if he rested his weight on it.

Tony laughed again.

It was _really_ good to see him laugh. Encouraged, Gibbs took the few steps to the side of the couch, and held out the bowl of popcorn. "Here," he said, tapping Tony's shoulder with the bowl.

He was not at all prepared for the reaction.

Instantly, Tony jerked his knees to his chest, his hands flying up to cover his head. Gibbs saw it happen almost in slow motion—Tony's hand hit the proffered bowl, and it flew from Gibbs' grease-covered fingers, sending popcorn in a shower around them both. Gibbs made a grab for the bowl, and missed. It hit the carpet with a thud, rolling a few lazy circles around its rim before settling.

The TV blared on through what would have otherwise been an extremely loud silence.

***************************************************************

Tony didn't move, his body curled as tightly as it could in its new, larger form. He waited for the pain he knew was coming.

But absolutely nothing happened. Less than nothing. It was like time had frozen, with popcorn all around him, and the horrible anticipation. Where was that fist? He knew it was coming.

"Tony."

The voice was soft. So soft, he barely heard it over the blare of Ferris Bueller. Tony shuddered. "I'm sorry!" he gasped. "Please sir, I'm sorry!"

The hand that touched his shoulder was gentle, but he jerked away like it was fire, his heart thumping like a hammer in his chest. The hand stayed.

"Tony, it's okay. It was an accident. I should have warned you I was there." The man's voice was still low. "It's okay. You're okay." His fingers and palm were warm, right through the cloth of Tony's shirt.

Tony still waited, every muscle in his body clenched like a fist. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Sir. Sir, I am so sorry."

The hand slid along his shoulder and up to the vee of his neck, and Tony started to shake. The man was going to choke him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry—" His eyes were shut so tight he was seeing pinpricks of light.

"Tony. Shh. It's alright. It was my fault." The hand lightly squeezed his shoulder. "Really. It's okay. You're not in trouble. C'mon, Tony. Look at me, kid." The voice was soft, coaxing.

Tony opened them reluctantly. Gibbs was crouching down in front of him, right on top of all that popcorn, his hand resting on his shoulder. Tony wasn't sure where he should look. He settled on watching Gibbs' arm.

"Tony? You with me?"

"Sir?" Tony asked. A piece of popcorn was caught in one of the wrinkles of his flannel shirt.

"Are you alright?" Gibbs was scanning his face intensely.

"I'm sorry, sir," Tony tried again.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Tony. It was an accident."

"I...I really didn't mean to, sir. I swear!" Tony babbled on.

"I know, Tony," Gibbs said.

"I can make some more. I know how. I should have been more careful—"

"Tony, it's okay." Gibbs moved his hand and rose to his feet. "You want me to rewind the movie?"

He didn't understand. What was going on? Why was he being so nice? Was this a trick or something? He gaped at the man standing in front of him, who was watching him. Tony was at a complete loss for words.

"Tony?"

He found some. "No, sir. Thank you sir."

"Okay." His hand was slow this time as he reached out for Tony's shoulder, and Tony managed not to flinch. "Try to relax. This movie's only good if you can laugh at it." He patted Tony's shoulder twice, and then went back to his previous seat on the couch, completely ignoring the popcorn that had covered everything within three feet of Tony.

"Sir? Should I clean up the popcorn?" Tony asked timidly.

Gibbs shook his head. "Just watch the movie, Tony. The popcorn can wait."

"Yes, sir," Tony said. He found that his muscles were starting to knot, and self-consciously, he clasped his hands around his knees. It wasn't as comfortable a position as he remembered it being, but he held it anyway.

"Gibbs," Gibbs reminded him patiently. "Just Gibbs."

"Yes, Gibbs," Tony repeated softly.

*********************************************************************************

He didn't really relax, his body still curled up all the way to the ending credits. It looked painful, but Tony didn't move an inch.

"... You're still here? It's over!" Ferris said. Gibbs hit the power button and sent Ferris into blackness.

"Tony?" he said.

Tony's eyes darted towards him. "Yes, s—Gibbs," he said.

"I think it's about time you got some sleep."

Tony nodded, and silently unfolded himself. Gibbs saw him wince as blood made its way back into his extremities, but he hobbled off down the hallway at good speed.

"Tony?"

He spun quickly, almost militarily. "Sir? I mean, Gibbs?"

"Sleep well," Gibbs said softly. There was so much he wanted to say, but there was no way for him to say it. Not to this boy, this Tony.

Tony swallowed hard, gave a sharp nod, and disappeared into the guest room.

It was painful, watching someone so afraid. Over popcorn! That kind of reaction should have been saved for something big. Nuclear fusion, maybe. Not this.

Gibbs grabbed the broom from the kitchen and started to sweep up the mess. While he swept, chasing kernels of corn around the carpet, his mind was going 100 miles per hour.

He'd been smacking Tony in the head for years, now. Years. And sometimes he'd flinched, sure, but never like that. Nothing like this kid, this strange, broken Tony who was terrified of his every move. It was hard for him to even believe his eyes. A tap on the shoulder caused that reaction? Surely that wasn't right.

He'd known that Tony played the tough guy. He hadn't realized that the tough guy act was covering up so much.

He'd heard Tony talk about his parents before, and he could be disdainful or flip about them, but he'd never given off the impression that they had physically harmed him, and he'd done his damnedest to avoid giving the impression that they'd even had an emotional impact on him. But what an adult Tony could hide, his eleven year old self couldn't. His parents had beat the hell out of him. One of them, maybe both. That was a reaction spawned by years and years of systematic _abuse_, not one or two spankings over the course of a childhood.

Gibbs sighed, sweeping popcorn into a battered plastic dustpan. He took it into the kitchen and dumped it in the garbage can. About time to take that out.

He tied the garbage bag closed and carried it outside into the dark. His mind was still engrossed in the problem of how to deal with Tony.

The kid was scared of him. Not just a little scared; he was terrified. How the hell was he supposed to help Tony remember his life if the kid could only think about the possibility that Gibbs would fly off the handle at any moment and beat him up?

He trusted Abby, it seemed. And he seemed to see Ducky as an advocate of sorts. And he didn't seem to be afraid of McGee. Or Ziva, which struck Gibbs as strange. After all, Tony generally had a healthy respect for Ziva and all the ways she could kill him with a paperclip.

Gibbs sighed, dropping the garbage into the can and turning back to his house. He'd have to get the rest of the team—the rest of Tony's surrogate family—involved.

**********************************************************************************

Gibbs took a deep breath, and it echoed in her ear. In it, she could hear all the tension of the last hour. "He's scared to death,"

Abby clutched her phone. "I'm coming over there, right now," she said. Poor Tony, so afraid. And of Gibbs, who couldn't be nicer...okay, well he could _act_ nicer, but he was a nice guy, a good guy at heart, kind of like the best Dad ever, mixed with the stoicism of your typical Marine, and a tiny dash of Boss in there too.

"Not now, Abs. Tomorrow," Gibbs said. "He's probably asleep already."

"You're not," Abby pointed out. It seemed that Gibbs needed her at least as much as Tony did; rarely had she heard him so obviously distressed.

"Yeah, well, I would be if I hadn't had to clean up the mess he made," Gibbs said.

He'd told her the events of the evening. She'd cringed when he explained Tony's reaction to the tap on the shoulder, and had come close to tears when Gibbs, in his usual terse way, told her of Tony's reaction to the resulting mess.

"You both made the mess," Abby pointed out. "If you hadn't scared him—"

"Alright. _We_ made. If I hadn't had to clean up the mess _we_ made, I'd be asleep already. Are you happy, Abs?"

No, she wasn't. Tony was scared, and that didn't make her happy at all. "It's better," she said finally.

"It'll be fine. It's only a few hours, anyway." His tone was firm. Abby sighed.

"Okay, Gibbs. But if you need me, my phone is right here, right next to my coffin." She wanted him to know that she'd be up and at his house in a minute if Tony, or he, needed her. "Even if it's 03:00."

"I expect you here at 08:00 tomorrow," Gibbs said. His voice softened a little. "He really needs _you_, Abby."

"He needs you too, Gibbs. Tony knew what he was doing when he put you down as his next-of-kin. Well, Normal Tony knew anyway. I suppose I shouldn't call him 'Normal Tony'. I mean, Tony is never exactly normal, is he? Maybe 'Big Tony' would be a better—"

"Goodnight, Abby," Gibbs said, cutting her off. But she heard mild amusement in his voice.

"Yessir, Gibbs. Goodnight," Abby chirped. "08:00."

She could practically see his nod through the phone line. "Good girl."

**********************************************************************************

Gibbs sighed and hung up the phone. He could always depend on Abby to come through, especially in a situation like this, where delicacy was called for. She might act like a bull in a china shop sometimes, but Abby was capable of diplomacy when it was necessary.

Now he just had to see how Tony was doing. Had he fallen asleep? Or was he lying there stiffly, worried about being in trouble? It was all too easy for Gibbs to imagine him staring at the ceiling, wondering if Gibbs was going to suddenly get mad and hurt him. And that made Gibbs angry. Not angry at Tony; he was angry at the parents who could hurt their child and cause them that kind of fear and anguish.

Gibbs made his way down the hall with quiet footsteps, creeping up to Tony's door. It wasn't shut, he noticed. There was a crack, about an inch and a half wide.

He grasped the handle and opened the door, peering in on Tony. The light from the hallway shone into the room and onto Tony's still form. He could see the rhythmic rise and fall of Tony's ribcage, but not his face. Tony was lying on his side with his back to the door.

"Goodnight, son," Gibbs said quietly, and he left the door open as he'd found it.

He made his way back down the hallway to his own room, and reached out a hand to flick off the light. Then he paused.

Maybe, he thought, leave it on. After all, Tony was 'only eleven'. When Kelly...oh, Kelly. His baby girl.

Kelly had never gotten to be eleven. But when she'd died, she'd still been afraid of the dark. Maybe Tony was too.

Gibbs swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. He left the light on.

*********************************************************************************

He heard the quiet tread of bare feet in the hallway, and quickly, silently, he curled onto his right side with his back facing the door. It would be harder for Gibbs to tell that he wasn't asleep yet if he couldn't see his face. Then he started to count his breaths. In...2...3...4...Out...2...3...4... Steady, even breathing was an important part of the fake sleeping trick, he'd learned from experience.

He heard the slight creak of the door as Gibbs pushed it open, and he began to count his breaths with deeper concentration. In...2...3...4...Out...2...3...4...In...2...3...4...Out...2...3...4... It seemed to be working; he could feel Gibbs quiet, imposing presence behind him, but as far as he could tell, Gibbs was just watching him 'sleep'.

"Goodnight, son." A whisper almost made him startle, but somehow, he kept his concentration enough to keep the breaths steady. But the words Gibbs said surprised him. _Goodnight, son_? He'd never heard his own father say something like that as he lay still, feigning sleep. And this Gibbs didn't even know him. Or, to be more precise, he didn't know Gibbs. But still. Why was he being so, well, _nice_ to him? He'd done nothing but cause problems today, and yet Gibbs hadn't yelled at him even once. Not even when he'd gotten popcorn everywhere. Father would have whipped him for that, Tony knew.

He heard another creak as the door was closed, and he nervously opened his eyes, expecting to find himself in pitch-darkness. Instead, Gibbs had left the door open just a little bit, exactly like Tony liked it. He felt himself relax. Thank God that he hadn't left him in the dark.

With a breathy sigh, Tony shut his eyes again. Now that he'd survived Gibbs looking in on him, and the light was still on, he finally felt safe enough that he could go to sleep.


	6. Friends

Abby woke up with a start. She looked at her alarm clock. O6:00. Would that give her enough time?

She clambered out of her coffin and stretched. "First things first," she said to herself.

She picked up her cell phone and hit speed-dial. First Tim, then Ziva, then Ducky. She'd get everyone ready. This was an important day; it needed to go off without a hitch.

"Mmm...McGee here," she heard him say drowsily.

"Did I wake you, Timmy?" she asked, surprised. Usually he'd be up by now, wouldn't he?

"It's a Saturday, Abs. What do you think?" Tim asked without rancor.

"Oh." She'd forgotten. "I'm sorry. But um, you've got to get up."

"Is there a body?" Tim asked. She could hear him moving, and she smiled. He was getting ready, even as he protested.

"No. But Tony's in trouble, Tim. He needs our help."

"Abs, Gibbs will take good care of him—" The sounds of movement stopped.

"Gibbs needs our help too. Haven't you noticed that Tony's different? Not just different like he's eleven, different like different? He's acting really un-Tony, Tim. He needs us!" She was getting worked up, and she could tell.

Apparently, so could Tim. He sighed.

"What do you need me to do, Abby?" he asked. The sounds of movement started again.

"You've got a key to Tony's apartment, don't you?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tim said cautiously.

Abby smiled. "Perfect."

*********************************************************************

Ziva was her next call.

"Yes, Abby?" Her voice was crisp as usual, but Abby could hear her breathing.

"On your morning run?" Abby guessed.

"That is correct," Ziva said.

"Can you cut it short this morning?"

"I am almost finished," Ziva said. "What is it that you need me to do?"

Abby grinned. "Well, it's not exactly what _I_ need you to do. But Tony needs some help."

"Give me the 9-1-1," Ziva said.

"Uh, you mean 'the 4-1-1' right?" Abby asked.

"Whatever. Let me know what is happening."

"Right. So Gibbs has his hands full with Tony, and I offered our help."

She could practically see Ziva's sage nod over the phone. "I see. And what will this help consist of?"

"Well..."

*******************************************************************

Ducky was her last call.

"Hello, Abigail," he said.

"Good morning, Ducky," she said genially.

"You are up quite early for a Saturday, my dear. Is something bothering you?"

"Well..." Abby took a breath. "It's Tony."

"Ah, yes. How are Jethro and Anthony doing?" Ducky asked with interest. "Jethro promised he would call if he needed my assistance, and I haven't heard from them, so I assumed they were doing well."

"Well...they aren't doing badly, I suppose," Abby said. "But I wouldn't call it well, either."

"Do go on, Abigail," Ducky said after it became clear that Abby wasn't sure what to say next.

"Okay, Ducky. This might come as a surprise..."

*********************************************************************

"And so Gibbs called me, and I promised I'd be there by 08:00, but I was up thinking about it last night, and I decided that we needed to get everyone to help, because if Tony doesn't even see us all, talk to us, he's not going to remember us, you know? And so I called everyone this morning." Abby took a huge breath; as usual, she'd gotten wound up and forgotten to breathe.

"Well, my dear, I believe you're on to a good thing, there," Ducky said gently. "So we're all to meet in front of Jethro's house this morning at 08:00?"

"On the dot," Abby confirmed, nodding even though the older man couldn't see her.

"Very well. I shall be there, ready to play my part."

"Thank you, Ducky!" Abby cried.

"Of course. Now, drive carefully," Ducky admonished.

She bid him goodbye and shut her phone, then did a little dance right in the middle of her kitchen. This was going to be great! Gibbs wasn't going to know what had hit him!

She looked at her clock, and then down at her slippers. She'd better get moving, or she would be late!

****************************************************************

Gibbs sat at his kitchen table, working on his fourth cup of coffee. He'd been awake for hours, his sleep restless. He'd finally gotten up at 06:00, and gone to the basement to work on the boat for awhile, but it was nearly 08:00, and Abby had said she'd be here on the nose.

He cracked his neck, keeping his watch on the front window. Abby's hearse was rolling into view. He stole a glance at his watch. 07:58. Yep.

To his surprise, however, it wasn't just Abby's hearse. Behind it, in a line, was Ziva's car, then McGee's, and finally Ducky's Morgan. He felt his eyebrows rise.

Coffee mug in hand, he opened the front door and stepped outside. "You brought back-up," he said mildly to Abby as she bounded out of her hearse, a paper grocery sack in hand. She smiled, looking self-satisfied. "Uh huh," she said. She set down the bag and wrapped her arms around him, and he reciprocated, shaking his head with amusement. Trust Abby to bring in the whole team.

He watched over Abby's shoulder as McGee emerged with a full trash bag, and Ziva pulled a huge box out of the back of her car and nudged the door shut with her hip. Lastly, Ducky emerged from his Morgan, his medical bag in hand. "Good morning, Jethro!" Ducky said genially.

"Didn't expect you _all_ to come," Gibbs said gruffly, but secretly, he was glad. After that debacle last night, he honestly didn't know what to do with DiNozzo. The kid was a mess.

"Of course we're all here. Anthony needs us," Ducky said.

"He's not even awake, Duck," Gibbs said. Ducky made his way to the door with a smile.

"That's quite all right, Jethro. We'll let him sleep. I believe Ziva brought things to make breakfast."

"We've got cereal," Gibbs said. He moved himself and Abby aside as Ziva and McGee carried their loads into his small kitchen. Gently, he put his hand on Abby's back and ushered her inside, grabbing the bag on the way.

Ziva was unloading food from the massive box she'd carried in. He felt his eyebrows rise again as he looked at the sheer amount of food she had. "Pizza rolls and Pop-tarts and ice cream?" Gibbs asked. "It's breakfast time, Ziva." He put Abby's paper bag in the corner where no one would trample it.

"I am aware," she said. "Abby asked me to pick up 'kid foods'." She said the phrase as though she'd never heard it before. "I was unsure how to decide whether a food was a 'kid food' or not, but Abby informed me that if it had a cartoon character on the box, it was a good bet."

"Did you know that Tony's a picky eater, Gibbs?" She ignored Gibbs' snort of disbelief. "No, really. I know it looks like he'll eat anything, but he's super picky about food. Think about it. Have you ever seen him eat a vegetable?"

"I can't remember the last time _I _ate a vegetable, Abs. What's your point?"

"Exactly." Abby sounded satisfied. Gibbs let his eyes roll up to the ceiling. He loved Abby, but God knew he didn't always understand her reasoning.

"And what about you McGee?" he asked his younger agent, who was staggered under the weight of the Hefty bag slung over his shoulder.

"Um, well Boss, Abby told me to get some clothes for Tony from his apartment," McGee said.

"Some? Looks like you brought 'em all," Gibbs noted.

That elicited a laugh from the young man. "Hardly," McGee said. "This is just his jeans and whatever."

"I also brought Bert," Abby said, "and my old Super-Nintendo." She looked at Gibbs with bright eyes. "Tony'll appreciate that."

"That's good thinking, Abs," he admitted. He hadn't even thought about how he was going to keep DiNozzo entertained and out of trouble.

"There," Ziva announced from the fridge. "Now I am going to make breakfast. Omelets?" she asked.

"I'll set the table," Abby said.

"Don't think I've got enough plates for everyone to eat at once, Abby," Gibbs said.

"Oh, that's okay. Ziva brought some of hers." She dug into the bottom of the box and emerged with a stack of plates wrapped in newspaper. "She brought forks and stuff too."

"It appears that you thought of everything, Abigail," Ducky said with a smile.

Abby's face fell, and she suddenly looked very unsure. "I hope so, Ducky," she said.

"Put that bag down, McGee. Maybe you could get that Super Nintendo set up?" Gibbs suggested. He certainly couldn't.

"On it, boss." McGee grabbed Abby's paper bag from the corner and beelined out of the kitchen.

Gibbs took a deep breath. "Duck?" he asked.

"Right behind you, Jethro," Ducky assured him.

With a nod, Gibbs headed towards the basement.

*************************************************************

Ducky silently observed as Jethro took his customary seat behind his boat and sat heavily.

"What is the problem, my friend?" Ducky asked gently. "You seem to have aged greatly since yesterday. Surely Anthony isn't that difficult?"

Gibbs let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "No, Duck. He's not difficult," he said.

"So what is the problem?" Ducky repeated.

"That's the problem, Duck. He's not difficult at all. You know DiNozzo; he's always pulling some harebrained stunt or being glib about something serious, or otherwise acting like an eleven year old. But Tony...this Tony acts like he's ancient. And I honestly don't know what to do with that."

Ducky nodded sagely from where he leaned against the stairs. "You're afraid."

Jethro's head jerked up. Ducky could tell he wanted to deny it. But they'd been friends for years. So instead, he allowed a tired nod. "I don't know what to do with him," he admitted quietly.

"What would you do, Jethro, if Tony were just another random child we'd met in the course of an investigation?" Ducky pressed gently.

"He's not, Duck. For one thing, he's...he's in the body, at least, of a grown man. Are you suggesting that I pretend he isn't?" Now Jethro was looking to pick a fight.

He hoped a little humor would diffuse the situation. "Well, I'm not suggesting you carry him off to bed if he falls asleep on your couch, my friend; it wouldn't work, and it would be disastrous with your bad knee and all, but it won't harm him to be treated as gently as you'd treat any child, any victim, really."

"I have," Jethro protested. Ducky could see the gruff man think. "Well, mostly," he added after a moment.

"It's imperative that you remember that even though he looks like him, he's not the young man you know. Forgetting that causes debacles like last night with the popcorn."

He watched Jethro's eyebrows shoot up, and Ducky smiled sadly. "Abby told me all about it on the phone this morning."

Gibbs sighed again, burying his eyes in the palms of his hands. "Failing already," he murmured. Ducky barely caught it.

"Don't go thinking like that!" he scolded quietly. "Young Anthony needs your help, Jethro. He can't afford to have you giving up on him like so many have."

"I'm not giving up on him, Ducky!" Jethro was vehement. Ducky nodded; he'd already known that, but it was good to hear Jethro assert it as well.

"Well, good. That is the absolute last thing that poor boy needs."

Jethro nodded. They stayed silent for a long moment. It was broken when Gibbs got to his feet, and gave his boat an affectionate pat.

"C'mon Duck. Gotta make sure they're not tearing the house down."

With a chuckle, Ducky followed his friend up the stairs.

*****************************************************

Tim jury-rigged a few cables together, and finally, the Nintendo icon appeared on the screen. He smiled. He hadn't been completely sure that the Super NES would work on this old television, but he'd found a way around things.

He flipped the switch on the Nintendo, and the screen went back to snow. He reached up to the TV and turned it off.

"Um...Mr. McGee?" he heard. It was Tony's voice, but it didn't sound like Tony at all. Tim turned.

Tony was still dressed in the same scrubs he'd worn the day before, and he stood with his arms hugging his stomach. Tim blinked. Abby was right. Tony was in trouble.

"Just McGee. Or Tim," Tim said.

Tony bobbed his head. "Sorry, Tim," he whispered quietly.

The scoutmaster in him kicked in then. "It's no problem, Tony," he said.

Tony didn't say anything. Tim was not used to this kind of silence; Tony could generally talk his ears off and keep going. But now, Tony was silent and awkward, standing in the doorway, and it made Tim feel uncomfortable.

"You know what?" Tim said, breaking the silence. Tony's eyes brushed his. Tim took it as encouragement. "I've got some clothes that'll fit you; I got them from your place."

"Thank you," Tony said, perfectly sincere, if stilted.

"Here. I'll get them for you," Tim offered.

Tim jumped up and ducked back down the hallway, grabbed the heavy bag, and returned. "Maybe you want to take a shower?" Tim asked, catching a whiff of body odor.

"Um, yeah," Tony answered.

"Here," Tim said. He handed the bag off to Tony, who took it with some effort. "Your toiletries are in there too," he added.

"Toiletries?" Tony asked, as if Tim had started speaking Latin.

"You know. Deodorant, shampoo, your razor?" Tim prodded.

"Right," Tony said, but Tim could still see his confusion.

"Listen, just go put that stuff in your room and jump in the shower, okay?"

"Uh, okay," Tony said meekly. He turned and disappeared into the hallway. Tim followed on his heels. They walked to the end of the hallway and into the guest room. Tim's eyebrows rose when he saw the impeccable neatness of the room. "Did you sleep here last night?" he asked, his eyes resting on the perfectly made bed with tightly folded hospital corners.

Tony nodded. "Yes, sir," he said. He placed the bag gingerly on the floor.

Tim untwisted the opening of the bag and pulled out Tony's kit, putting it in his hands. "You'll need that," he said, feeling deeply uncomfortable with Tony's use of 'sir' but unsure of what to say. "And this...this...and..." he trailed off, shoving a change of clothes into Tony's arms.

"Thank you," Tony whispered again.

"No problem," Tim said. "Go on."

Tony nodded and left the room quickly. With a sigh, Tim plopped down onto the precisely made bed.

"Dear God, Abby wasn't kidding, was she?" he whispered. "He really is un-Tony."

Through the walls, Tim heard the shower start.

************************************************************

It felt good to wash up. Tony enjoyed feeling the hot water run over his skin. He'd nearly had another freak-out when he realized that it wasn't just his hands and feet that had gotten bigger—he had another bigger feature that he hadn't expected, and somehow had overlooked when he was in the hospital. Probably because he'd had so many other problems on his mind. "Whoa," he muttered to himself, looking at it. "That's just weird."

He shook his head and finished scrubbing up. He wasn't going to think about it, because if he started thinking about it, he was going to freak out. He'd heard some of the boys at school talking about having big dicks before, but man...they'd all be scared of him if they saw him in the locker room now!

He shook his head again. He could only imagine his mother's horror if she heard his thoughts.

He rinsed the soap off, and turned off the water with a sigh. He pushed the curtain aside, grabbed the fluffy towel that was hanging over the towel bar, and started to dry himself off.

That done, he turned to the counter where he'd left the clothes that Tim had given him. They looked pretty normal, if big. A tee shirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of undershorts. He got dressed and looked at himself in the mirror, still unable to believe that the face staring back at him was actually his. He recognized his eyes, but everything else seemed wrong. And his face was prickly again.

Tim had said something about a razor. Tony dug through the bag that Tim had thrust into his hands. He found one...sort of. It didn't look like the one they'd given him at the hospital, and he couldn't even see a sharp surface on it.

Would Tim mind if he asked him how to use it? Would he laugh at him? Would he get mad? There was only one way to find out.

Timidly, Tony opened the door and peeked his head into the hallway. "Tim?" he whispered.

"You okay, Tony?" he heard the man say from the direction of the guest room, that was now Tony's room.

"Um, yeah," Tony replied quietly. "But, um...I can't figure out how to use this razor. It is a razor, right?" He was struck with the idea that maybe he was wrong, and Tim would make fun of him for being stupid.

It took Tim two seconds to emerge from Tony's room and look at the thing he held in his hand. "Yeah, that's an electric razor," Tim said, and it didn't seem like he was making fun of him.

"Uh...do you think, maybe, you could show me how it works?" Tony asked. He ducked his head, sure Tim would get mad at him.

Tim's hand on his shoulder made him jump. "Sure," he said, and his voice sounded a little funny. "I'll show you. C'mon." He opened the bathroom door wider. "It's charged, so all you have to do is..."

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Tim watched Tony awkwardly manipulate the razor against his face. Thankfully there was no way he could cut himself with this one; Tim remembered the nicks he'd left on his face before.

"Cool," Tony said. "This is awesome." He was getting better at steering it. "Look! I could just do half my face!" He turned his face towards Tim, grinning. One half of his face was shaved clean; the other had prickly stubble still covering in. Tim smiled, shaking his head.

"Not a good look for you, Tony," he said.

Tony was still smiling though as he shaved off the rest. "This is fun. Could I shave my head too? I could shave my name into the side of my head..."

"Go ahead," Tim said, biting his lip. Tony was hysterical, and the best part was he didn't mean to be. "I don't care."

"Really?" Tony asked, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Sure," Tim answered.

WHACK! Tim jerked as the heel of his boss's hand connected with the back of his skull. "Don't be telling him that sort of crap, McGee," Gibbs scolded. "Would you want Tony to do that to you if the situation were reversed?" He swooped in and took the razor out of Tony's hand. "Don't go shaving things into your head, Tony."

"Yes sir," Tony whispered with big eyes. His eyes were glued to Gibbs' hands.

"You've got to be responsible Tim. You're not the youngster here," Gibbs continued. "Don't make me teach you that the hard way. I'm sure there's a load of cold case files that need to be looked through."

"Yes, Boss," Tim said, feeling ashamed. He hadn't really been thinking, he had to admit. If Tony really were an eleven year old, he wouldn't have given the okay, but since it was Tony, it seemed different. But it wasn't, not really. "Sorry."

"C'mon," he said with a beckoning gesture, ignoring Tim's fumbling apology. "Ziva's got breakfast ready." He disappeared down the hallway, razor still in hand.

Tim rubbed at the back of his head where it still smarted.

"I'm sorry," Tony said. His voice was so small Tim barely heard it. He looked at Tony, who was slumped down, staring at his hands.

"Why?" Tim asked automatically.

"I wouldn't have asked if I would have known he was gonna smack you for it," Tony explained in a near-whisper. "You shouldn't have to get in trouble because of something I did. Especially with Gibbs, 'cause he's your boss."

Tim smiled at his friend. "You get me in trouble with Gibbs all the time, Tony. No need to stop now."

"I do?" Tony asked. "Does he always smack you for it?" His voice shrunk more. "I'm really sorry, Tim."

Tim wanted to explain, but Tony was looking small and young, even though his 6'2 frame should have made both feats impossible. So instead, he patted Tony's shoulder. "Gibbs doesn't show he cares like most people, Tony. You've got to look past the surface."

He caught Tony's uncertain look, and he smiled again. "Come on, Tony. Ziva is quite a cook; you wouldn't want to miss her omelets."

"Okay," Tony agreed quietly, and allowed Tim to steer him out of the bathroom.

Tim couldn't believe how different Tony really was. It was starting to sink in. That big, muscled frame housed the mind of a little boy, and Tim had to keep that in mind.

Tim held back a sigh. It wasn't as easy as he'd thought it would be.


	7. SuperNintendo

Tony felt Tim's hand on his shoulder, guiding him down the hall and into the kitchen.

His eyes widened. Ziva was wearing an apron that said, "Kiss the Cook" and briskly beating eggs in a large silver bowl. Something about that struck Tony as weird, but he couldn't figure out why. After all, she was a lady, and ladies cook...but he couldn't take his eyes off her efficient hands. Half of Gibbs' body was sticking out from behind the fridge. His hand was holding a half-gallon of milk. "Think this might have gone bad," he said.

Ziva grabbed it and gave it a sniff. "It will be fine," she declared, dumping it into the skillet warming on the stove. The skillet hissed.

"Good morning, Tony!" he heard Abby say brightly. She bounded over to him from the other door, a stack of plates balanced precariously on one hand. She wrapped her other arm around his waist. "How are you this morning?"

"Uh...fine," Tony said, feeling shy. He let himself hug her back, though; she seemed to expect it.

"I'm just setting the table," Abby narrated, gesturing at Gibbs' small table where napkins and a plate piled with buttered toast already sat.. "You wanna help?"

"Um, sure," Tony said.

"Forks are over by the sink," Abby directed.

He grabbed a handful of forks and followed Abby around the table, deftly stepping around Ducky, who sat at one end of the table, sipping from a mug of tea. "Did you rest well last night, Anthony?" Ducky inquired politely.

"Yes. Thank you," Tony said quietly. The kindly older gentleman smiled at him.

"Glad to hear it. And your head isn't bothering you?"

"No sir," Tony replied.

"Couldn't you save the interrogation until after we eat, Ducky?" Abby asked, her voice teasing. "You'll make him lose his appetite."

"Not Tony," Ziva interrupted. "I have never seen him lose his appetite."

Tony smiled. That was true enough; he was always hungry.

"Sit down, Tony," Gibbs said, ducking out from behind the open refrigerator. "You want a glass of juice?"

"Yes, please," Tony answered, plopping down in one of the wooden chairs before realizing that it was rude to plop. But no one said a word about it; no one even raised an eyebrow. Not even Gibbs, who Tony would have guessed to be more of a stickler about behaving.

Tim quietly took a seat across from Tony. "How's your morning, Ducky?" he asked.

"Just fine, Timothy my boy. Why, I'm with some of my favorite people; how could it be anything but a good day?" He turned his smile to Tony and patted his arm. Tony felt himself flush. He wasn't used to people who actually wanted to be around him, not to mention so many at once. It was a little overwhelming.

Ziva commanded, "Tim, hand me Tony's plate," with a double snap of her fingers. The sound made Tony flinch. When his father was angry with him in public, he would snap his fingers like that. Nothing good ever followed when they got home.

"Are you alright, Anthony?" Ducky asked, suddenly concerned. He'd seen him flinch. Darn it.

"Yes sir," Tony answered automatically. "I mean, I'm fine, Ducky," he amended.

Tony could feel Ducky watching him out of the corner of his eye. "If you say so," he said doubtfully.

Meanwhile, Tim had taken Tony's plate and passed it off to Ziva, who scooped up the egg creation she'd been working on and passed it back. Tim placed it in front of Tony, who gaped.

It was an omelet. Which wasn't all that remarkable; he'd had a few omelets before, but he usually had to spend half his time picking stuff he didn't like out of it, and then he'd get yelled at for playing with his food. But Ziva had made it exactly the way he liked it, with ham and cheese oozing out the sides, and more cheese on top. Cautiously he poked it with a fork, but no vegetables were forthcoming.

"You made it perfect!" he remarked without thinking.

"Of course," Ziva said, unperturbed. "Your plate, Ducky?" she asked.

He took a huge bite of the omelet. It was delicious, and exactly how he liked it. How had she done that? She'd known exactly how he liked it.

It made him sad. He really really wished he could remember her, could remember all of them, since they seemed to really know him. And if all this fuss made anything, they even liked him.

"Don't worry, Tony," Abby said, taking the seat next to him. "You'll remember eventually."

He looked at her wide-eyed. Had he been speaking aloud? "How did you..."

Abby just smiled at him. "I have my ways," she said, in a fake-spooky voice, wiggling her fingers in front of her face.

Tony smiled, at first hesitantly, and then, when she grinned back, more genuinely. "Okay," he said with a shrug. He supposed it didn't really matter. So he shoveled in another bite.

Ziva made a good omelet!

*********************************************************************************

Tony took the last bite of his omelet, and patted his stomach contentedly. "That was really good. Thank you," he said to Ziva, who was eating her own broccoli, bacon and cheese omelet.

"It was not a problem," Ziva replied. "I do enjoy cooking occasionally."

Gibbs picked up Tony's plate and stacked it on top of his own. He took Abby's and Tim's as well and carried the pile to the sink. Ducky had already put his plate away.

"Well, Anthony, I know you would like to go play Nintendo with Tim, Abby, and Ziva, but first we have something to take care of," Ducky said. Tony felt his spine stiffen. He looked at the doctor nervously. What had he done? He couldn't remember doing anything wrong. Was Ducky going to punish him for plopping in the chair earlier?

Ducky seemed to notice his anxiety. "Oh, don't worry, my dear boy. I just want to have a look at you, make sure your head is healing up all right. You've nothing to fear from me." He gave a kindly smile

Tony stood reluctantly and made his way out from behind the table. Gibbs put his hand on Tony's shoulder. "You okay?" he asked in an undertone.

"Yes s—Gibbs," Tony replied.

The hand squeezed his shoulder. "You're sure?" Gibbs was talking directly into his ear so the others around the table couldn't hear.

Tony shrugged. He knew that it was silly to think Ducky would hurt him—he'd trusted the older gentleman right away, and Tony could usually go with his gut on these kinds of things. But the particular turn of phrase Ducky had used sounded so much like the one his father used when referring to Tony's wrongdoing in public, and it always meant something bad was going to happen.

"Want me to come with?" Gibbs asked.

Tony swallowed at the unexpected kindness and finally shook his head. "I'm okay," he said. Silly of him, to be afraid of Ducky, of all people. That was as silly as being afraid of Abby! His fear slipped away as quickly as it had arrived.

"Alright," Gibbs said. "Just holler if you need me." He squeezed his shoulder again, in a friendly way. Tony found that he was almost disappointed when the man let go.

"Alright then, Anthony. Shall we go up to your room?" Ducky inquired, grabbing his medical bag from its temporary resting place in the corner. Tony nodded, and Ducky gestured to the hallway. "Lead the way."

***********************************************************************************

Ducky watched the tall young man walk down the hallway, glancing back every few steps to see him following. He'd never thought of Anthony as the nervous sort, but apparently, at least as a youngster, he had been. The boy walked into his room and turned to face him.

"Take a seat, Anthony. You're rather too tall for me to see your head properly if you stand."

Anthony sat carefully on the edge of the bed. "It's weird, that I'm taller than you," he remarked.

Ducky dug an otoscope out of his bag. "Why is that weird?" he asked, peering into Anthony's eyes. He watched them follow the light, and was pleased to see they focused exactly as they should.

"Well, I've never been taller than a grown-up before," he said plainly.

"I see," Ducky replied. He looked in one of his ears, and then the other. "Say Ah," he said, and peered into Anthony's throat. All looked well.

He put it back into his bag. "I'm going to touch your head, Anthony. Please tell me if something hurts."

As he ran his hands deftly over Anthony's hair, the boy was silent. He winced as Ducky brushed his fingers over his temple.

"Does that still hurt?" Ducky asked, although really he needn't have. It was obvious that had caused pain.

Anthony nodded. "Uh huh," he said.

He could still feel a bit of swelling under the skin. "Any double vision, dizziness?" he asked.

"No, Ducky," Anthony said. Ducky nodded to himself.

"Alright then. And if I may listen to your lungs..."

Ducky finished the examination quickly. "Thank you, Anthony. Jethro?" he raised his voice a bit.

Anthony suddenly stiffened, his eyes wide and unfocused. His mouth dropped open.

"What is it, Anthony?" Ducky asked, touching the young man's shoulder. Anthony locked eyes with him.

"You...I remember seeing you before, now," he said. "You work in a...doctor's office? With a lot of steel tables in a row. Right?" he asked.

"You remember?" Ducky asked, trying to hold back his excitement. No one had told Anthony that, he was certain of it, so he must have remembered something.

"I...just a little," the boy hedged. "I remember sitting on a steel table, and there were a bunch of small doors behind me. And you work with some other man, right? I remembered someone. You were listening to my lungs," he added.

"You remembered Mr. Palmer?"

"He has glasses, and brown hair," Anthony replied. "Is that Mr. Palmer?"

Ducky smiled. "Yes, it is. You are remembering, my boy! This is fantastic."

A knock came at the door. "Come in," Ducky called merrily. Jethro walked in, eyebrows raised.

"Well, Duck?" he asked.

"He remembers James," he said simply. Jethro's eyebrows raised even higher.

"Really? Of all of us to remember, he remembers Palmer?" Jethro sounded as though he wanted to chuckle, but was holding it back.

Ducky smiled at Anthony. There was no real need for him to hear this conversation. "Why don't you go and see what Timothy, Abigail, and Ziva are up to, my boy? I'm sure it's more interesting that listening to us talk."

He watched as Anthony slipped past them both, his bare feet slapping against the floor as he made his way down the hall. Then he returned his attention to his friend.

"Don't disparage it, Jethro. At least he is beginning to remember. There is still a small amount of swelling present under his temple. I am not too worried about it, as he's not having any symptoms of a fluid build-up. It should repair on its own; however, in the case that he becomes more confused, has double vision, or severe nausea or headache, it would be best to bring him back to Bethesda."

"But he's doing better?" Jethro asked. Ah yes. His friend did like things laid down in a nice, clear line if possible.

"Yes. Physically, his body is recovering as it ought to."

"Well, at least one thing is going right," Jethro said.

"Oh, my friend, plenty is going right," Ducky said confidently.

"You didn't see him last night, Duck," Jethro contradicted. "He was a disaster."

"Yes," Ducky conceded. "He still is a bit jumpy. But let me tell you, that young man is beginning to learn what it feels like to be loved, to be taken care of. And I get the distinct feeling that he has never had that before. We are teaching him what it means to be important to someone. You cannot tell me that is a bad thing."

Jethro sighed. "No, I can't. But I sure as hell wish..." He trailed off.

"You're doing fine, Jethro," Ducky said, patting his friend on the back. "It will take some time, that's all."

*************************************************************************************

He padded into the living room, where Tim was kneeling in front of the television, Abby sitting on the couch behind him with her feet pulled up beneath her. "Come sit down, Tony," she invited, patting the couch cushions next to her.

He sat cautiously, and she slung her arm over his shoulder. He turned his head; she was grinning. "Remember Super Nintendo, Tony?" she asked.

"Super Nintendo?" he echoed. "Uh...no." On the television screen, animated pictures of small turtles and men in overalls were jumping and dancing.

Tim tossed something at him and he caught it instinctively. It was a plastic square, with buttons on it, connected by a wire to a box. "It's a controller," Tim said. "Look. Push the start button."

Tony did, and one of the characters jumped in the air. "Yahoo!" it yelled. "Super Mario!"

Abby took the other controller. "We'll play two player," she said. "You wanna go first?"

"You can," Tony said. He wanted to watch and see how it was done.

So Abby switched controllers with him, and started. He watched as her fingers pressed buttons and her little character flew across the screen, jumping on turtle backs and hitting blocks and picking up mushrooms. It didn't look that hard.

And then, very suddenly, she fell into a pit. "Whoops," she said. "I thought that was a secret passage. Guess not." She grinned over at Tony. "Your turn!"

It took him a little bit of playing around to figure out the controls, but he learned fast, and soon was zipping through the level. "That was so easy, Abby! I can't believe you died!"

"I was looking for the secret tunnel!" she protested. Tim took the controller from her. "My turn," he said.

They watched him soar through the level as quickly as Tony had. "Show-off!" Abby said.

"Yeah, Tim! Show-off!" Tony echoed, feeling happy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun.

Tim raised an eyebrow. "I'm a show-off, am I?' His lips were twitching. "I'll show you a show-off!" And he leapt on top of Abby and started to tickle her mercilessly.

Abby let out a screech that could wake the dead. "Tim! Timmy! Argh!" She was laughing hard. "Tony, help me!" she begged between breaths.

And so Tony did, jumping on top of McGee and trying to pull him off of Abby. There were knees and elbows flying everywhere. "I...can't!" Tony panted. He was trying, but McGee had her pinned and was tickling her with the top of his head.

"Tickle...hee hee hee! Timmy!" Abby squealed. "Tickle him...back!"

"Oh no!" Tim yelled. "She's got this coming, calling me a show-off!" He had a big grin on his face.

Abby was laughing so hard now that tears were running down her face, and so Tony took the risk and tickled Tim. He yelped like a girl and reared backwards, giving Abby a chance to catch her breath. She immediately dove in, fingers at the ready to tickle them both. She was sprawled across them both, holding them down, her fingers moving fast.

"No fair!" Tony yelped, laughing hard as she tickled his sides mercilessly. "I helped you!"

"All's fair in love and war, Tony!" she cried.

An elbow caught Tony in the shoulder, but it barely even registered. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so hard.

"Abby!" Tim was trying to protest, but could barely even breathe, his face the bright, shiny red of an apple. "Gotta...hehehe...breathe! Ha ha!"

"All right children, enough!" Gibbs called from the hallway. The three of them froze on the floor, Abby's fingers still digging into the other's sides. Tony looked at the older man—he was trying not to smile, but his eyes were crinkled up at the corners; a sign of a true smile if Tony ever knew one. He shook his head, but Tony could see the grin he was trying to hide. And Abby and Tim started to laugh again, not the hysterical laughter of the tickling, but another kind. After a moment, Tony joined in. They probably looked pretty funny, tangled together on the ground like that.

"Hopeless," Gibbs said, shaking his head some more. "Don't know why I even try..." But he was smiling as he walked off to the kitchen.

"Whew!" Abby flopped backwards, landing flat on her back on the carpet. "I'm beat, now."

He heard Tim let out a sigh. "Yeah. Guess I ought to be doing more sit ups," he said. "My stomach hurts!"

Tony let his arms flop down at his sides too. "Mine too," he said.

The three of them contentedly stayed flat on their backs, looking up at the ceiling and catching their breath. Tony could hear Gibbs murmuring in the kitchen. A minute later, Ziva came into the room.

"Why are you all lying on the floor?" she asked, sounding confused. She cocked her head to the side. "Is this another American custom that I do not understand?"

"We had a tickle-war," Abby explained, not moving.

"What is a...'tickle-war'?" Ziva asked, pronouncing the word like it was foreign.

"You jump in a big pile and tickle everyone you can reach," Tony explained. "But Gibbs told us to stop. Only I think he thought it was funny." He felt himself smiling, remembering it.

"I thought you all were playing Super Nintendo," Ziva said.

"Yeah," Tony said. "It's fun. But Abby's really bad at it. She fell in a pit!"

"Hey, mister," she said, lightly elbowing him in the side. "I was searching for a hidden tunnel."

"May I play also?" Ziva asked. "I know I can beat any one of you."

"Not me!" Tony crowed.

"Are you sure about that, Tony?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. 'Cause you're a girl. You're not gonna beat Tim or me!"

"That might be a losing bet, Tony," Tim said cautiously. But Ziva just smiled.

"Let me try."

"Sure," Abby said, sitting up. "Which game?"

Ziva smiled. It was a funny little smile. "Do you have...Duck-Hunt?" she asked.


	8. Guns

Tim watched from his position on his back as Abby jumped up and dug through the paper bag she'd brought with her. She let out a triumphant little crow and held the game and two gun-shaped controllers over her head. "Got 'em," she said, beaming.

She tossed one at Tim, but he wasn't fast enough, and it landed with a plop on his stomach. He groaned.

"Plug it in, Timmy!" Abby said, gracefully plugging in the other controller. She popped the game cartridge into the machine and reset it. The Duck-Hunt logo came up on the screen.

With another grunt, Tim flipped onto his stomach and plugged in the second controller. He lifted it in the air and Ziva snatched it from his hand. "I will go first," she said, grinning.

Abby still had the other. "Two player?" she queried.

"Be my guest," Ziva said. She took a very serious stance, gun held at the ready. Abby stood next to her in a good facsimile of her friend's stance.

"This oughta be good," Tim said. He looked at Tony, who'd positioned himself on the couch, his legs twisted up like a pretzel, and sat down next to him. Tony smiled.

"We can so beat them," he said confidently to Tim.

Tim couldn't help the little chuckle that emerged. "Just wait a minute," he said to Tony. "Make sure you watch."

It was a slaughter. Abby wasn't bad, but Ziva, as he'd expected, was, well, Ziva. She didn't miss a duck. At the end, she made a silly little twirl of the gun around her finger. "Still believe that you will be able to beat me, Tony?" she asked with a little smirk on her face.

Tony's eyes were wide, but he puffed out his chest. "I can beat you," he said. "You're just a girl."

Ziva narrowed her eyes. "We shall see," she said. Abby handed her controller off to Tony.

Tony took it from her, and stepped effortlessly into a textbook perfect shooting stance. Tim felt his own eyes widen, and he looked over at Abby, who had a similar look on her face. Ziva didn't seem to notice, stepping into place herself.

And then Tony changed, going stiff. The three of them watched as he stood there, his eyes wide and unfocused. Tim wondered if he needed to go get Gibbs, or even maybe Ducky.

And then, suddenly, Tony whirled, facing them on the couch. "Special agents. You're all special agents." he said. He turned to Ziva. "You're...are you...why are we...what did I..." Tony couldn't seem to finish a sentence.

Abby jabbed Tim none too gently in the ribs. "Go get Gibbs and Ducky!" she whispered. Tim scrambled awkwardly off the couch and ran down the hall to the kitchen, where Gibbs and Ducky sat in silence over coffee.

"Boss, Ducky," he said intensely. "Tony—"

He didn't need to say anything more; both men were up and hurrying down the hall. Gibbs nearly bowled him over. He and Ducky arrived on the other man's heels.

"Tony?" Gibbs asked quietly. Tony was surveying them all, looking nervous.

"I had a gun," he said. "A real one." He put the controller down on the floor. "A black one, heavy, with real bullets. I...I was at someone's front door, and I had a gun, and then...then I kicked on the door, and it flew open." Tim could see Tony's eyes lock with Gibbs for just a second, and then look away. He seemed to shrink.

Gibbs was nodding. "Anything else?" he asked, his voice still quiet, as though he was afraid to break Tony's concentration. But Tony just shook his head. He looked like he might be sick.

"Did I...did I really shoot a gun, Gibbs?" he asked quietly. Gibbs nodded. Tim could feel the tension, the expectations in the room. It was like everyone was holding their breathe.

"Did I...I kill someone?" Tony asked. He dropped his eyes down to the ground when no one answered. "Is that why you all are here, because I killed someone and I'm going to go to jail?" He sounded petrified.

Abby jumped up then. "Tony, no!" she said, throwing her arms around him. He flinched as though she'd hit him. Tim could see the pain on her face even as she held tightly to her friend. "Tony, it's okay. You're not in trouble. You're not. We're just here 'cause we're your friends!"

"Abby," Gibbs said quietly.

Abby turned her head from Tony but didn't let him go. "Tell him he's not in trouble, Gibbs! Can't you see he's scared?"

A silly question; everyone in the room could see that Tony was scared. But Gibbs walked over to them, putting one hand on Abby's shoulder and another on Tony's. Tim barely heard him whisper, "It's okay," and he wasn't completely sure who Gibbs was speaking to, Abby or Tony. Tony was staring at the floor, his shoulders up around his ears. Abby still clung desperately to him, like she wanted to shield him from everyone else.

"C'mon Abs, let go," Gibbs said just as quietly. "I think you're scaring him too."

She loosened her grip. "Tony?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am?" he answered, all the comfort, camaraderie, and playfulness of a few minutes ago forgotten. The change struck Tim like an elbow to the gut.

It seemed to hit Abby hard too. She let go of him. "It's okay, Tony. You're not in trouble," she reassured him more quietly. "You didn't do anything."

Tim's eyes darted over to Ziva, who also appeared flabbergasted. The red controller dangled, forgotten, off her finger as she watched the scene unfolding.

"Tony?" Gibbs asked. "You want to maybe go sit in the kitchen with Ducky?"

Tony nodded. "Yes sir," he said.

Ducky stepped in, putting his arm around Tony and guiding him off. "Don't worry, dear boy, everything is all right. Take a few breaths; you're about to turn blue, I believe. Would you care for a spot of tea? When I was a lad, mother used to make it for me when I felt upset. It had marvelous comforting properties..." The pair disappeared out of earshot.

Gibbs made eye contact with Tim, who took Abby into his arms. She stared, crestfallen, after Ducky and Tony. "It's okay, Abby," he said, hugging her. "He's not afraid of you; just overwhelmed, I think."

"You've got to treat him gently," Gibbs said, his voice low and insistent. "He looks like Tony, but that is a kid in there, and a fearful one at that. Don't forget it, or I'll have you doing cold cases for the next five years, understand me?."

Tim joined his voice with the others. "Yes Gibbs," they answered as one.

"Gibbs, I do not understand," Ziva said. "Tony was never a scaredy-rat before...why is he now?"

Gibbs sighed. "Cat, Ziva. Scaredy-cat." He turned. "I'm going to go see how he's doing. You guys keep yourselves out of the way for a while."

Tim looked at Ziva. "He's scared of everything, isn't he?" he said, still holding Abby as she attempted to squeeze him half to death.

"Yes," Ziva said. "It is very unlike Tony. I do not understand. He was struck in the head, yes, but that should not make him a different person, correct?"

Tim just shrugged, but inside, he wondered. Maybe it hadn't made him a different person...maybe he'd just forgotten how to hide.

* * *

"Do you like milk or sugar, Anthony? I'm afraid Jethro doesn't have any lemon," Ducky said, putting the teabag in the cup of steaming water.

"Sugar, please sir," Tony said in a small voice.

"Now, now, Anthony, there's no need to call me 'sir'. I'm just Ducky." Ducky added a generous amount of sugar to the mug, knowing that Anthony had a sweet tooth. He placed it on the table in front of the young man, who had somehow managed to curl his long, lanky frame into a ball on the chair. "Do be careful that you don't spill," he cautioned, handing a spoon to the boy.

"Yes, Ducky," Anthony answered obediently. He took a small sip of the steaming tea. "Mmm," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Ducky asked. He made his own cup of tea and sat down at Tony's side.

"Ducky? Are you sure I'm not in trouble?" Anthony asked him. He was trying to sound nonchalant, but Ducky knew better.

"I'm very sure," Ducky said consolingly. "You've done nothing wrong." Very carefully, he patted Anthony's upturned knee, making sure to avoid the steaming tea still sitting on the table top.

"Well then, why are there all these agents around? And why was I shooting a gun? That seems pretty wrong..." Anthony's voice got softer near the end of the sentence.

"Oh dear. Well...you had permission. You'll remember eventually."

Anthony's dark hazel eyes looked at him imploringly. "They aren't going to arrest me? I'm not supposed to have a gun, I don't think."

"No one is going to arrest you, Anthony. Can you trust me on that?" Ducky could see how frightened the young man in front of him was, and it pulled at his heartstrings. He had never been a father, had never had a child, but he'd always had a soft spot for them. Nothing broke his heart like seeing a little one on his autopsy table. And children like Anthony, who had very obviously been maltreated, made his blood boil.

Anthony licked his lips. "Is that a promise?" he asked in a near-whisper.

"Yes, lad. I promise," Ducky said very solemnly.

"Even if...if Gibbs decides he's going to arrest me? To put me in jail?" His voice was even smaller. "Could you stop him?"

"Jethro will not put you in jail, Anthony. He cares for you a great deal. You have nothing to worry about there. I promise that as well." Ducky could see that his words were very important to the lad. Anthony swallowed hard and nodded.

"Okay," he said. He looked down at his hands, and took a sip of tea. Ducky could tell he'd hardly tasted it.

He had always known the young man was hiding a less-than-perfect past, but he'd never realized how imperfect it had been. From what Jethro had told him and what he observed first-hand, Anthony had taken a great deal of abuse during his childhood. He felt disappointed in himself that he hadn't noticed the warning signs any earlier, although who would have thought to look for signs of child abuse in a functioning, fully grown man?

Ducky looked up to see Jethro standing in the doorway. "Hello, Jethro," he greeted him cheerfully. Anthony went very still.

"Duck. Tony. How ya doing, kid? You okay?" He took the few steps into the kitchen and very carefully put his hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Yes s—Gibbs," Anthony managed. Jethro patted his shoulder a few times.

"Good boy," he said. His eyes bored into Ducky's own. Ducky knew what his friend was asking.

"Don't worry, Jethro. He just needed a bit of time to relax," Ducky said, while using his eyes to convey exactly how much Anthony needed him right now. "Perhaps a cup of tea and you could join us?"

Jethro nodded. "Coffee, I think," he said, walking over to pour himself a cup.

"Ah, yes. You do enjoy your coffee," Ducky said. "Do you know, Anthony, that I have never seen Jethro drink anything except coffee? I am assuming that occasionally he drinks water, as a body needs it to function, but I've yet to see it."

"Only in the middle of the night," Jethro said. Ducky could tell he was teasing. "That way I don't have to see myself drink it; I can pretend it's just really bad coffee." He sat down on Anthony's other side.

"Gibbs?" Anthony whispered.

Jethro nodded. Anthony pressed his lips into a flat line, and then finally spit it out.

"Are you going to arrest me?"

Jethro placed the coffee mug on the table top, shaking his head. "No one's getting arrested," he said. "You didn't do anything wrong with that gun. You had permission."

Anthony looked like he wanted to protest. Gibbs shook his head.

"Believe me, Tony. I'm an agent for the Navy, which means that I deal with bad guys with guns on a regular basis; you are not a bad guy. You didn't do anything you weren't supposed to do. You just don't remember."

Anthony was chewing nervously at his bottom lip. "Do you promise?" he asked.

Ducky could see that Anthony's question had startled Jethro from the slight raising of the eyebrows and widening of the eyes. But that expression only flashed for a moment, and then, suddenly, there was a protectiveness there that Jethro usually reserved only for Abigail. He nodded solemnly.

"I promise you, Tony." He looked the young man in the eyes.

Anthony watched him for a long, long moment. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Okay," he said. He dropped his eyes back to the mug of tea in front of him, which Ducky was sure was beginning to grow cold. Suddenly, he looked boneless on that chair, as if all the energy had been sucked out of him.

"You look tired, Anthony," Ducky said when no one else spoke. "Perhaps you'd like to take a nap?"

"Do I have to?" Anthony asked. Before Ducky could say anything, Jethro nodded.

"It'll do you good. And I'd bet Ducky could get ahold of Jimmy Palmer so you could talk to him when you wake up."

Tony's face lit up momentarily. "Jimmy," he said. "I remember him now. We...he had this toy race car...he let me try it. Out in the parking lot."

Ducky saw Jethro roll his eyes. "On the job, likely," he mumbled, too low for Anthony to hear.

"It was really cool. And...he asked me to help him learn how to play basketball better...that's weird, huh? I mean, he's got to be like, thirty. Why would he ask me to help him play basketball?"

The young man sounded a bit confused about that part, but Anthony's eyes were shining.

"I'm sure Mr. Palmer would appreciate being taken for thirty; that has to be a first," Ducky said. The young man did look quite young for his age, to say the least.

"Go on, Tony," Jethro said, jerking his head towards the hallway. "I can see you're tired."

Anthony took one more sip of his neglected tea, and then stood. He looked down at Jethro and Ducky, his face getting that soft, uncertain look again.

"Yes?" Ducky asked; that the young man had a question was apparent.

"You guys said you weren't mad at me, right?"

Ducky nodded and watched Jethro do the same.

"Are...are Ziva and Tim and Abby going to be mad? I didn't mean to ruin their game, and I really didn't mean to hurt Abby's feelings..." He licked his lips. "Abby has been so nice to me. Well, everyone has, really. I'm really sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. They understand, Tony," Jethro said. "Don't worry. And they'll still be here when you wake up. Now go on, or you're gonna fall asleep on your feet like a horse."

Anthony's mouth quirked up in a little smile, and then he turned and left the kitchen. They could hear his bare feet slapping all the way down the hallway.

Jethro turned to him. "He needs a lot," he said quietly. "More than I ever would have guessed."

Ducky nodded sagely. "Yes," he said simply. "But I see, Jethro, that you are more than prepared to give it. And he will be better off for it in the long run."

Jethro shook his head. "After Kelly," he said slowly, "I thought I'd never be able to do it again. And yet, here I am."

"You do a fine job, my friend." Ducky patted Jethro's shoulder. "Now, I must see if I can find Mr. Palmer; I think it would do them both a world of good to see each other. Funny enough, I'd never realized they were such chums, but apparently they're both full of surprises..."

* * *

Gibbs made his way into the living room. Ziva, Abby, and McGee were sitting on the couch, talking quietly and intently; the video game was still going on the television, forgotten. He took the few steps to the TV and turned it off, and the mechanical quacking left silence in its wake. He looked expectantly at his team.

Ziva spoke first. "It is a good sign, yes, that his memory is returning?"

Gibbs gave one, deep nod. "He remembers Palmer."

"Palmer?" It was a surprised chorus. Gibbs gave another nod.

"Apparently, Tony was going to show him how to play basketball? And Palmer had a toy car or something that they were messing around with in the parking lot."

Abby's eyes lit up. "I remember that case!" she said. "I think Agent Lee was involved...it was supposed to have a video camera strapped on top of it. You know, so they could do surveillance?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Sounds just like Tony," he said. "Bet he got it off of some movie."

"One of the 'Home Alone' movies, I think," Abby confirmed with a nod. "I used to love them!"

"Anyway, Ducky's on his way to get Palmer now, and I told Tony to go take a nap," Gibbs said. He surveyed their surprised faces. "It's been a stressful day. Hell, I'd take a nap if I could."

"Me too!" Abby said cheerfully. "The Caff-Pow has long since worn off. Does this couch pull out?"

Gibbs gave her a look. "Gonna get some more coffee," he said, turning to leave the room. At the threshold to the doorway, he paused. "And yeah, it does."


	9. Jimmy

AN: I know this took forever for me to update, but it's longer than usual by about 2,000 words, so no complaints. I will try to update faster in the future of course, but the muse has to bite me before I can write. So without further ado:

* * *

Ducky sighed and pulled out his cell phone. He didn't doubt that young Mr. Palmer would come over, not after he'd seen Anthony's face light up like that, remembering how they'd played with the car in the parking lot. Ducky wondered how he had missed that friendship; he could still remember scolding Anthony for calling Jimmy 'the autopsy gremlin' when he'd first replaced Gerald.

"Hello?" The familiar voice of his young assistant came over the phone.

"Hello, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said.

"Hello Dr. Mallard. Is something going on? How is Tony doing?"

Ducky found himself smiling. "He seems to be doing all right. I believe he would like to see you."

"Me?" Jimmy sounded surprised. "But...I mean..."

"It seems that he remembers you," Ducky said. "Does 'playing with a remote controlled car in the parking lot' ring any bells?" He allowed just a hint of teasing scolding to slip into his voice.

"Oh! Well, Doctor, it was for a case, and everyone knows that Tony loves that kind of thing, so I figured it would be okay if he helped...wow," Jimmy trailed off. "He remembered that? Of everything he could have remembered?" The young man sounded a bit awed.

"Yes, indeed. So I thought perhaps it would be good if you came over to Jethro's house and talked with Anthony, being that you are the only one he remembers from before."

He heard the young man swallow audibly. "Um...Agent Gibbs' house?" he asked, and his voice squeaked a little.

"Yes," Ducky said. "Anthony is residing here for now, as Jethro is his next of kin."

"Sir, you know that Agent Gibbs doesn't like me very much..."

"Nonsense! And regardless, Anthony could use a friend right now, one who he remembers, and therefore you are the only one he has. He is taking a nap at the moment, but I am sure he will be awake come dinnertime, so I expect to see you here by then."

He heard Jimmy swallow again, but when he spoke, his voice sounded surer. "Yes sir, Dr. Mallard. I'll be there."

"That's a good lad," Ducky said. "We'll see you later. And do drive carefully."

"I will. Goodbye, Doctor."

"Goodbye," Ducky said cheerfully. He hung up the phone.

* * *

Gibbs sat in the basement, nursing yet another cup of coffee. He wasn't working on the boat; he was just sitting, thinking. He'd been down here for nearly three hours, and Ducky had yet to come after him, so he figured he was still within acceptable limits of antisocial behavior. Ducky always let him know one way or another if he wasn't.

So Tony was getting little bits and pieces of his memories back. Gibbs supposed he ought to be grateful, but it only made him worry more about the kid. Tony had been through some very grisly stuff on the job...what would a child-like brain do with those kind of images and experiences? Or...Gibbs shook his head, thinking about all the sexual encounters Tony had bragged about. He did not want to have to explain the birds and the bees. That was one thing he'd never had to do before in his entire life, and he was fine with that.

He wondered idly if his team had raided the refrigerator; the lunch hour had come and gone. He couldn't hear them fighting with each other, so he assumed so. Ziva had bought all those groceries; at least there would be food for them to eat. He'd been running low; nearly time for a trip to the grocery store.

He tried to remind himself that it was only his second day with Tony. The last week had felt like years, but really, it hadn't been very long. Hell, he hadn't even figured out what he was going to do about work come Monday; he'd never tried to get a babysitter for a grown man before. He'd think of something; maybe calling in some of that personal time he'd never taken.

Gibbs stood and drained the last of his coffee before starting up the stairs. He detoured into the kitchen and refilled the mug.

It looked like a tornado had blown through it. Boxes and boxes of food were lying, opened, on the counter, some of their contents removed, others spilling out onto the Formica surface. So they'd eaten, then. He shook his head at the mess before suddenly realizing that it was dead silent.

Softly he made his way into the living room. He raised his eyebrows.

Ducky was settled in his armchair with his legs up, his head lolling back, snoring softly. The rest of them were on the couch, which Abby had pulled out. She was flat on her back in the center, her face turned to rest in the crook of Tim's shoulder. Tim was on his side, his arm over her waist, his fingers resting on Ziva's stomach. And Ziva was on Abby's other side with her back to the two of them, curled up like a cat with her butt right up against Abby's hip. It almost made him wish he had a camera.

There was one more sleeper he had to check on. He soundlessly made his way down the hallway to Tony's room. The door was open just a crack. He pushed it open farther and looked inside.

Tony was on his side curled in a ball, clutching Bert like a drowning man clutches a life preserver. Abby must have thought to put the stuffed animal in his room; she was good about that kind of thing. At least the toy wasn't making the farting noises right now...

Tony's face looked peaceful and quiet, and Gibbs was relieved. He eased back out the door and down the hallway.

Just one more hour with his boat, and he'd wake them and figure out how he was going to feed them all for dinner, considering that they'd eaten nearly everything Ziva had brought over. It looked like he'd have to make that trip to the grocery store after all.

* * *

Jimmy stood outside the door to Agent Gibbs' house with his hand hovering over the doorbell. Should he knock or ring? Was there a correct answer? Agent Gibbs seemed to have very limited patience for him, and he didn't want to start this whole thing off on the wrong foot.

He checked his watch; it was quarter to five. A deep breath steadied him some, and he finally let his knuckles rap gently against the wooden door.

He didn't hear anything inside. Maybe he'd misunderstood Dr. Mallard's orders?

The opening of the door made him jump. Agent Gibbs stood in front of him, his eyebrows raised.

"Palmer," he stated.

"Um, yes sir, Agent Gibbs. I mean, uh, yes. That is, Dr. Mallard asked me to come over? He said that Tony had remembered me?" Jimmy felt as awkward as a teenager on a first date.

Gibbs gave one placid nod. "Come in," he said, gesturing with his head into the house. With another deep breath, Jimmy stepped inside.

The house was quiet. "Um, did everyone go home?" Jimmy asked nervously. He really didn't relish the idea of being alone with Agent Gibbs, even if Tony had told him repeatedly that the man wasn't who Jimmy thought he was.

"They're sleeping in the living room," Gibbs said. He sounded bemused.

"All of them?" Jimmy said, feeling his forehead crease with confusion.

"There's a pullout," Gibbs said, as if that was an answer. "Kitchen's open, though. Want a cup of coffee?"

"Uh, sure. Thank you," Jimmy said, following the older man into the kitchen. Gibbs grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee.

"Hope you drink it black; we're out of milk. Could be some sugar in there somewhere," Gibbs said, gesturing towards a cupboard.

Jimmy shook his head. "Black's fine. The diabetes...I try to avoid extra sugar...it makes my blood sugar levels go up...of course, you would know that though..." He trailed off. He was talking too much again.

Gibbs plunked the mug on the table in front of him, filled his own, ever-present mug and took a seat across from him.

Jimmy took a nervous sip of the coffee and forced himself not to make a face. That was strong!

"Why you, Palmer?" Gibbs' question seemed to come from nowhere.

"Pardon me?" Jimmy asked.

"Tony remembered you. Why? I didn't even know you two talked." Gibbs' eyes were intense.

"Uh...well, yeah. You know. When he comes down to see Dr. Mallard, well, you know how Dr. Mallard can get going telling his life story to one of the corpses; it can make for a bit of a wait...I don't know. We just started to talk one day, and then there was that day when Abby and I were trying to figure out that thing with the RV car, and..." Jimmy shrugged. He himself was rather unsure how he and Tony had found their way into a friendship.

Gibbs' eyes didn't waver. He just took a drink from his mug.

Jimmy looked away, feeling uncomfortable. He forced himself to take another sip.

He heard creaky steps in the hallway, and felt his shoulders relax. "Dr. Mallard," he said.

"Hello, Mr. Palmer," the doctor's familiar, kindly voice said from behind him. "I am so glad you could make it."

Gibbs looked up. "Nice nap, Duck?" he asked.

The doctor made his way to another chair between the two of them and took a seat. "It was splendid, although I fear I may not sleep well tonight. Then again, once I take a Tylenol PM, I am out like a light, so—"

"And the others?" Gibbs asked in his usual gruff manner.

"They appear to be awakening, if slowly," Dr. Mallard answered.

"I am awake," Ziva's crisply accented voice said from behind him. Jimmy jumped. He hadn't heard a sound; she'd just appeared like a ghost. "Abby and McGee are also awake, but Abby says they are stretching." She said 'stretching' like it was a foreign concept.

Gibbs stood suddenly. "It's near dinnertime anyway...wanna get something going, Ziva?"

"Surely," Ziva said, turning to Gibbs' scattered kitchen counter. "Only...what am I supposed to make out of half of a box of Cheez-its and two broken strawberry pop-tarts?"

"Figure it out," Gibbs said, heading down the hall.

Jimmy shrugged at her sympathetically. "Takeout?" he suggested.

"That is a good idea."

Jimmy reached back and pulled his wallet from his pocket. "I've got the number for Giant Panda," he said, pulling a small business card out. Ziva took it from between his fingers before he could even offer it to her.

"Hm," she said. "I will call them. Thank you, Jimmy."

Well, life was full of surprises. Ziva said thank you? He managed a nod. "Sure."

As she took the phone off the wall, he turned to Dr. Mallard. "So?" he asked.

"It's good that you are here, Jimmy," Dr. Mallard said, surprising him yet again. He could count the times Dr. Mallard had called him 'Jimmy' on one hand. "Anthony truly does need your friendship right now."

Jimmy nodded.

Behind him, he heard Ziva speaking Mandarin.

* * *

Tony woke to darkness, and he gripped the hippo Abby had given him earlier fiercely. It let out a loud, farting noise that startled him and he jumped. The bed creaked loudly.

"Tony?" He heard Gibbs' voice from the hallway.

"Gibbs?" Tony asked, even though he already knew.

The door opened, and Tony felt relief flood him as Gibbs turned on the light. "What time is it?" he asked cautiously.

"A little after six," he said. "Ziva's got dinner. You hungry?"

Tony nodded shyly. Gibbs gave a small smile.

"C'mon, then. Don't want it getting cold."

Tony stood, and self-consciously put the hippo back on the bed, but Gibbs didn't seem to notice or care that he'd been hanging onto the stuffed animal. Gibbs gestured past himself, and Tony started down the hallway. He could feel that Gibbs was on his heels.

When he entered the kitchen, he was surprised to see a face that he remembered from...somewhere. Jimmy. They'd played with a remote controlled car. And then they'd duct-taped a camera on top of it. What kind of grown up approved of that sort of thing? Man, that had been so cool!

"Tony?" Jimmy said. Tony grinned.

"Hi, Jimmy!" he said. "Did you bring the car?" he asked, before clapping his hand over his mouth. That wasn't polite of him. Anxiously he glanced back at Gibbs, but the gruff man didn't seem to mind.

"The car? Uh-uh," Jimmy said, shaking his head. Tony didn't know how to read the expression on the man's face. "But, uh...I could go get it," he offered.

"Really?" Tony perked up again.

"Perhaps tomorrow, Jimmy," Ducky said. "I think perhaps tonight a board game would be better, as it's getting rather dark outside, and I don't know that Jethro would appreciate a toy car in the house."

"Of course, Doctor," Jimmy said, his face flushing a little. "I, uh, didn't think—"

"I don't care if you guys have a car in the house, but it's kind of a drive to your place, isn't it, Palmer?" Gibbs said.

"Yes," Jimmy said with a nod. "But, uh...tomorrow. Ok?" he asked, looking rather anxiously at Tony.

"Okay," Tony said. Gibbs wouldn't mind them playing with a remote controlled car in the house? He really was a different kind of grown-up than his parents, that was for darn sure.

"Here," Ziva said, pressing a plate heaped with Chinese food into his hands. "Sit," she commanded, gesturing towards the table. Jimmy patted the open chair next to him, and Tony moved over towards it, putting the food on the table and taking a seat. Only then did he realize that everyone else had half-finished plates in front of them.

"Sorry I'm late," he said.

"We didn't want to wake you," Abby said, smiling as she twirled noodles around a set of chopsticks. "Figured you must have needed the sleep."

Gibbs sat down next to him, holding another plate filled with food. "Didn't eat yet," he said.

Tony took a fork and stabbed at a piece of chicken covered in orange sauce. He stuck it in his mouth and started chewing, careful to keep his mouth closed.

"I think if it'[s all right with you, Gibbs, I'm gonna go home after dinner," Tim said. "I'm afraid that I've got a deadline come Sunday night, and my editor won't be happy with me if I miss it."

"Writing another story about us?" Ziva asked, her left eyebrow arching sharply. Abby's eyebrows rose also.

"You write books?" Tony asked, surprised. He'd never known anybody who wrote books for a living before.

"Uh..." Tim said. He looked at the two women staring him down. "I've told you, the characters aren't you guys. The blurb in the front of the book explains that any likeness of any person, living or dead—"

"Is purely coincidental, yes, McGee, we can read," Ziva replied. "However, this agent Lisa of yours has more than a coincidental resemblance to myself."

"Ziva," Tim said soothingly.

"Writing another story about L.J. Tibbs and company?" Gibbs asked.

"Er...well, yes..." Tim's face was turning red.

"Tibbs? That rhymes with Gibbs," Tony said. "Is it a book about you guys?" That would be a cool book to read, he thought. These people were all special agents, after all. If he had to read something, that would probably be interesting. Shooting people and stuff? Sounded exciting to him.

"No!" Tim denied vehemently, but his denial was overwhelmed by the other adults in the room saying, "YES!" in unison.

"Can I read it?" Tony asked.

Gibbs and Ducky looked at each other for a long moment, having a conversation with their eyes in a way that reminded Tony weirdly of his parents. Finally, Ducky nodded.

"Sure," Gibbs said, turning back. "Go on, Tim. And yeah, you can read it if you want, Tony. Got a copy of it around here somewhere. Think it's steadying a table leg downstairs. You want I can go get it for you."

"Yeah," Tony said, despite his own natural aversion to reading. "That'd be cool." He watched Gibbs nod and shovel rice into his mouth.

Tim's mouth was wide open, gaping. "You used my book to hold up a table leg? A table leg?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Yeah. It was handy. So?"

Tony watched Tim gape, and fought the urge to chuckle.

* * *

Ziva looked at the clock hanging above her head as she did the dishes. Surely it was about time for them to leave for the night. They had been present for over twelve hours, and it must be time to...oh, what was the phrase...call it stops.

That did not seem right, but she could never keep her idioms straight. Tony would know—he always delighted in correcting her language errors. Except he did not do that now. He was much more...polite.

She did not like Tony _polite. _A polite Tony was like a purple pig: unnatural.

She heard footsteps in the hallway and turned as Tony entered the room. His usual easy grace was gone; he looked long and gangly, like a puppy who had not grown into its feet.

"May I have a glass of water, please?" he asked. It was very polite and very formal.

"You know where the glasses are, yes?" she asked. Tony nodded. "Then you are able to get yourself water?"

Tony nodded and moved to her side, reaching up into the cupboard for a glass. He did not seem as tall as he usually was, and Ziva realized that her friend and partner was slouching.

"Stand up straight, Tony. That is not good for your back," she said without thinking.

Tony snapped to near-attention. "Yes ma'am," he said quickly.

"Do _not_ call me 'ma'am'." She shot him a look.

He quailed. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She realized that she had frightened him. She had frightened Tony many times, of course, but it had always been intentional on her part. This was not intentional, and thus was strange.

"Do not be sorry. Just do not call me 'ma'am.' I am not that old." She softened her eyes. "Would you like ice in your water?"

"Yes please," he said.

She opened the freezer with ease and pulled out a tray of ice cubes, most of which had sublimated to the size of quarters. She popped them out and dropped a handful into Tony's glass, then took it from his hand and filled it from the faucet. She handed it back to him.

"Thank you," he said, just as painfully polite.

"You are welcome," Ziva replied.

Tony dropped his gaze as he sipped at the water, and Ziva studied him unabashed. Despite the great amount of sleep he'd had during the day, there were tired rings under his eyes. His exhausted vulnerability tugged at her heart. She put her hand on his shoulder, wishing that she had the courage to give him a hug. His eyes shot up and locked with hers for a long second. She could see fear in them.

"I frightened you," Ziva realized. "I apologize, Tony. I mean you no harm. I was trying to help."

His eyes were still wide. A flash of Tali's eyes, wide and frightened just like that, appeared in her mind. But Tali's fear had been from the sounds of warfare, not a hand on her shoulder.

She removed her hand, wishing that she could see just a glimpse of the usual Tony. "You appear tired, Tony. I believe you need more sleep."

"Yeah he does," Gibbs said from the door, making them both jump. How had he silently made his way behind them? "Think you and the rest of the team should probably get going."

"I will find the others," Ziva said with a nod. That was a cue if she had ever heard one.

* * *

"Goodbye Tony! I'll see you tomorrow!" Abby's voice was bright as she put her hands on his shoulders. "I can hug you, right?"

He was glad that she didn't wait for him to answer before she threw her arms around him. His nerves might have gotten him to tell her no, and once she had hugged him, he didn't want her to let go. Luckily, she didn't seem to want to let go either.

She kissed his cheek and he felt himself blush. Abby smiled at him. "You sleep tight, okay?"

Tony nodded. Tim put his arm around Abby's waist. "Ready to go?" he asked, trying to move her towards the door.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye?" Abby demanded with a look.

"Have a good night, Tony," Tim said in response. His hand landed lightly on Tony's shoulder, which surprised him, but he managed not to flinch. Tim patted him a few times. "Gibbs can call us if you need something, okay?"

"Thanks," Tony said. Both Tim and Abby smiled, and then Ziva send them off.

"Go, go. It is difficult to miss someone who does not leave," she said. She then turned to Tony as they headed out the door. "You will sleep well," she said. She seemed to hesitate, then reached up and put her hand on top of Tony's head and muttered a long phrase. Tony was sure it wasn't English.

"What did you say?" he asked, curious.

"It is a prayer. A blessing," she replied. She hesitated again. "Gibbs has my number if you need my assistance," she added.

"Okay," Tony said. He wasn't sure what he would need from them that Gibbs wouldn't be able to help him with, but it was nice that they were offering.

Suddenly, Ziva put her arms around him, very briefly. "Good night," she said, and then she was gone before he was sure she'd ever been there.

Jimmy was next. He patted Tony's back rather awkwardly, but something in Tony recognized this as a usual trait for his friend. "I'll see you soon, okay Tony? And I'll bring over the car too."

"Cool. Thanks," Tony said.

Jimmy gave a little smile, and then said, "Goodnight, Agent Gibbs," over Tony's shoulder before he, too, left into the night.

Ducky was next. "You have had quite the line-up of friends today, my dear boy," he commented. "You're feeling well? Nothing I should check on before I leave for the night?"

"No sir, Ducky," Tony replied. "I'm fine."

"Tired, I'm sure," Ducky said. He too leaned in and gave Tony a hug. "Get some shut-eye; it will cure a wide variety of ailments. And try not to worry; you could not be safer than you are with Jethro."

"Thank you," Tony said.

"Goodnight, Anthony." He turned. "Anything else you need, Jethro?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Nope. We've got it under control Duck."

"Then I will see you soon." Ducky tipped his head, and made his way out.

The kitchen seemed very silent in the aftermath of the large crowd that had just left. Tony was aware of the sound of the faucet dripping to his right, and of Gibbs leaning against the kitchen counter.

"You hungry?" Gibbs asked, breaking the silence.

Tony considered it, then nodded. "Uh huh," he said.

Gibbs nodded in return. He turned and pulled a box of Cheez-Its from the cupboard and held them out to Tony.

"How many may I have?" he asked, unsure. He'd never been given free range to his parents' cupboards at home; the servants had always doled out his food. It wasn't like Tony had ever been hungry, but he'd never been allowed to eat whatever he wanted, either.

Gibbs shrugged. "Whatever you want. Finish the box if you want to." He turned back to the counter and poured another cup of coffee, then made his way over to the table.

"Really?" Tony asked, unbelieving.

"Just don't make yourself sick," Gibbs said with a nod. He took a drink.

"Cool. Thank you," Tony said, sitting.

They sat in the quiet, broken only by long sips of coffee and the crunch of small, cheese-flavored crackers. Tony felt his eyes getting heavy, even though he'd slept way too much already today.

Gibbs noticed, of course. "Time for bed," he said.

"But I already slept a lot today," Tony said.

"Yeah. So? You're tired." Gibbs didn't seem dissuaded at all. "C'mon, kid."

Reluctantly Tony stood, leaving the box of crackers on the table.

"Go brush your teeth," Gibbs reminded him. He nodded and started down the hallway, into the bathroom.

He considered just running water over his toothbrush, but a few pesky chunks of crackers stuck in his back teeth made him consider again. Anyway, Gibbs was pretty smart; he'd probably know, somehow. Tony didn't want to get in trouble for something so stupid. He put toothpaste on his brush and started brushing.

A minute later, he rinsed out his mouth and put the toothbrush back in the mug beside the sink. He walked down the hall and into the guest room.

Had Tim brought his pajamas? He hadn't thought to ask. Of course, he didn't recognize any of the clothes Tim had brought anyway, so they wouldn't really be _his_ pajamas, but at least they wouldn't be those blue scrubs from the hospital.

He found a pair of sweatpants that had NCIS written on the leg, and a tee shirt. His mother always made him wear matching pajama sets; he liked the idea of just sleeping in normal clothes.

He was pulling the shirt over his head when he heard a knock at the door. He spun to face it, but it hadn't opened.

"Tony?" Gibbs' voice was quiet. "Can I come in?"

"Yes," Tony said, surprised that the man had asked. This was his house, after all. He finished fixing his shirt. The door opened slowly.

To Tony's surprise, Gibbs was dressed nearly identically, in dark blue sweatpants that said NIS on the leg, and a matching NIS tee-shirt. He smothered a giggle behind his hand.

"What's so funny?"

Gibbs didn't sound mad, but Tony immediately stopped laughing. His father had asked that of him before, and nothing good had ever come of it. "Nothing, Gibbs," he said, feeling a nervous prickle in his chest.

"No, come on, Tony. What were you laughing at?" Gibbs' blue eyes met his. They didn't seem angry, but Tony still looked away.

"I'm sorry," he replied quietly as the prickle turned to ice.

"Don't be sorry," Gibbs told him. "Was it funny?"

"No, sir." Tony moved automatically into apologetic mode, dropping his eyes to his feet.

"Tony, relax. You're not in trouble. I'm just curious," Gibbs said. He heard the man take a deep breath. "C'mon. Get into bed."

He felt the rush of air as Gibbs moved past him to the bed, and he turned, trying to obey before Gibbs could get mad at him. _Too late_, he thought with a sinking stomach, because Gibbs had leaned over the bed already. What was he doing?

Gibbs stepped to the side and gestured at the bed. Tony stopped, stunned.

He'd turned down the blankets.

He'd had a nanny once, as a little boy, who would do that for him, but ever since she was fired when he turned seven, no one had ever done that for him. It wasn't that big of a deal, really, and yet Tony felt his eyes prickle like he might cry. He blinked hard a few times to push back that prickly feeling.

"You're not mad at me?" he asked.

"Why would I be mad at you?" Gibbs sounded genuinely confused. "You didn't do anything."

"I laughed," Tony reminded him reluctantly.

"So what?" The man looked at Tony's face. "That's not against the law."

"I thought you were mad," Tony said. He paused, but Gibbs was waiting for him, so he continued. "Because I was laughing...at you. Not really you. At me too. Both. Um..." Tony stopped talking, sure that if Gibbs hadn't been angry before, he certainly was now.

"Why?" Gibbs asked. He still didn't sound angry.

Well, it was too late now, no matter what. "Because we're dressed practically the same," Tony said quietly.

Gibbs looked startled. His eyes moved over Tony's clothing, and then down at his own. Tony watched, holding his breath.

Gibbs threw his head back and laughed.

Now that had not been what Tony expected. He watched as Gibbs chuckled at the ceiling with unbelieving eyes.

Gibbs looked back at Tony. His eyes were sparkling, the smile on his face making them crease at the corners. A real smile, Tony knew; he had seen a lot of fake ones over the years and could tell the difference.

"C'mon. Bedtime," Gibbs said, and Tony crawled into bed and pulled the covers up over himself. Gibbs' eyes were still smiling as he reached down and ruffled Tony's hair, and for once, Tony didn't feel the need to shy away. "With those pajamas, you should sleep like a rock."


	10. Tales

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I know everyone has been waiting much too long for this update, and I'm sorry about that. My mother passed away recently, and I've found it difficult to do anything, even writing fanfiction. But I will keep updating, even if it is slow as molasses. And AgentDinozzo13, you can relax. This story WILL be finished, I just don't know when. But until I type 'THE END' I'm not letting it go. Thanks. Now, go enjoy the chapter.

* * *

He never made a list, but today, he found himself wishing that he had. Anything to get through the arduous task of grocery shopping faster.

As he pushed the cart around the store, Tony stayed right on his heels. It was distracting. He'd stop to grab something off a shelf and Tony would step on the back of his shoes, and then say, "Sorry, Gibbs," or something like that, and then he'd get odd looks from the other shoppers. Well, no wonder; they did make a strange pair, with Tony following him like a duckling follows its mother.

"Relax," Gibbs repeated for the fifth time. He wished that Ziva would have brought more food that day she came over; he hadn't realized that it would be a monumental task to take Tony with him to the grocery store.

"Tony, go find a loaf of bread, okay?" Gibbs suggested, trying to get him off his heels.

"What kind?" he asked.

"Whatever you want. I don't care," Gibbs replied. "Go on. Get a thing of peanut butter too. And, uh..." he tried to think of something else that would take up a chunk of time. "Get a gallon of milk. 2%."

Tony nodded. "Okay!"

He turned. Gibbs watched as he jogged down the aisle, nearly mowing over a very elderly lady in his path. "Sorry ma'am," he heard Tony say over his shoulder as he rounded the corner.

The lady looked at Gibbs, who nearly winced, preparing himself for an earful. Instead, she gave him a sympathetic smile.

"He's delayed, isn't he?" she said. "My youngest boy, Wesley, is that way. He's living in a home now; it got too difficult to take care of him after I broke my hip."

Gibbs swallowed. Delayed. Yeah, he supposed that was one way to put it, although it didn't seem completely honest.

"He was injured on the job," Gibbs said, not sure why he was sharing this with a random woman in a grocery store. "We're hoping he'll get better."

The look on her wrinkled face was perilously close to pity. "Well, it's good that he's got someone like you in his corner," she said. "He seems like a nice boy."

"He is," Gibbs said. He cleared his throat, feeling awkward. "Do you need help reaching that, ma'am?"

She smiled with a bob of her head. "Please." He reached over her head and pulled down the box of noodles she'd been stretching for and placed it in her cart. "Thank you, young man." She began shuffling her way down the aisle, leaving Gibbs to debate between macaroni noodles and plain spaghetti.

Tony came back around the corner, moving much more slowly. In one hand he held a gallon of milk and a jar with some kind of peanut butter and jelly concoction; a loaf of Wonder-bread dangled from the other. "Is this okay, Gibbs?" he asked.

Gibbs nodded. "Stick it in the cart, Tony," he said. Tony did so, putting the bread on top and Gibbs was grateful that he had the common sense not to smash it under the milk.

"What else do we need, Boss?"

Gibbs startled. Tony had called him 'Boss'. He looked at the young man standing in front of him. Tony didn't seem to realize that he'd said something extraordinary. He had seen Gibbs' reaction though, and cocked his head to the side, looking a little wary.

"I'm sorry?" he offered, as a question. Gibbs shook his head.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Gibbs said. "You called me Boss." He studied Tony's eyes.

Tony looked away, over Gibbs' shoulder. "I, uh...sorry. I..."

"No. It's good, Tony. Don't be sorry," Gibbs said. He put his hand on Tony's shoulder. "Where did that come from?"

Tony looked uncomfortable. "I had a dream last night," he said to Gibbs' shoulder. "You and Tim and Ziva and me, we were all in a big, orange room with a huge TV...and everyone called you Boss. Me too."

Gibbs felt his lips start to turn up. He patted Tony's shoulder. "Good," he said. "C'mon. Let's get the rest of these groceries. Go find some cereal you like. Grab a couple of frozen pizzas too."

"Okay," Tony replied, now watching Gibbs out of the corner of his eye. After a moment, he started down the aisle.

Gibbs picked up his phone and dialed automatically. "Duck, it's me. I think I have some good news."

* * *

"Everything looks to be going well, Anthony. Nothing to worry yourself about," Ducky said as he headed towards the door.

"I wasn't worried," Tony replied honestly. "Gibbs was."

Ducky smiled. "Yes, well, nothing for you to worry about either, Jethro. But do call me if you need anything."

"Will do, Duck," Gibbs said. He held the door for his friend.

Tony's eyes widened. "Jimmy!" he said, surprised. His friend stood in the doorway, hand raised as if to knock on the door, an RC car tucked under his arm.

"Tony. Dr. Mallard. Agent Gibbs," Jimmy said. His voice cracked. "Um, I was coming by to see if, uh...Tony wanted me to bring the car over?"

Tony glanced back at Gibbs, who nodded. "Go on," he said. "Don't let him get run over, Palmer."

"Uh, no sir," Jimmy said. "I mean, no Gibbs. I won't."

"I'm glad you came over," Ducky said to Jimmy as he stepped outside. Tony had to hold himself back so he didn't knock over the older man. Almost knocking over two old people in one day would definitely be pushing his luck.

"Me too!" Tony blurted. "C'mon, can we race it down the block?"

Jimmy put the car on the pavement and handed over the remote. Tony grinned.

"Bet it'll take the curb," he said.

"I don't know if that's a good—" Jimmy protested.

But Tony had already put the pedal to the metal.

* * *

"I'm sorry Jimmy! I didn't mean to!" Tony was kneeling at the side of the road next to the toy car. Or rather, next to the battered remains of the car. "I really thought it was gonna make it."

It had handled almost an hour of Tony's roughhousing, Jimmy thought. A tough toy. But when he'd tried to mow down a rather big rock that looked much too large to have come from any of the nearby yards...well, the rock was more solid than the car. Even from where he stood, he could see a cracked axle and two pieces of wiring poking out of the bottom of the toy.

"Hey, it's okay," Jimmy said. "Let me look at it." He crouched down next to Tony.

Tony handed it over, watching him anxiously. "How much am I gonna owe you?" he asked resignedly.

It didn't look that bad. "I bet I can fix it," he said. "And if I can't, Tim certainly can."

"Are you sure?" Tony asked. He didn't sound very hopeful.

"Yeah," Jimmy said. He considered trying to take it apart now, but then discarded that idea. He'd need tools. "Tim's good with electronics, and I'm good at putting little pieces back together." His mind flashed to a case where he'd had to reassemble part of a skeleton that had been put in a wood chipper. He'd thought he'd never finish! Yet he had, and the case had been solved.

"Let's go inside," he suggested, scooping up the car. "I'm going to have to take this home to fix it anyway."

"You're not leaving now, are you?" Tony asked.

Jimmy shook his head. "Not unless Gibbs kicks me out. Not that he'd do that," he added quickly, as he saw the wrinkles in Tony's brow deepen.

"Is he going to be mad?" Tony asked.

"About?" Jimmy asked.

"Me breaking your car?"

Jimmy shook his head. "It's my car," he said. "If anyone was gonna be mad, it would be me. And I'm not."

Tony opened the door, and they both went inside. Jimmy could hear pounding from the basement. "He still working on that boat of his?" he asked.

"Abby said something about a boat," Tony replied. "So, maybe."

"Haven't you seen it?" Jimmy asked, surprised. He would have thought Tony would have been down there, driving Gibbs up the wall with inane questions.

"I don't...no," Tony said. He changed the subject as they made their way into the living room. "I really did a number on that car, huh?" He sounded satisfied with himself now.

"Yeah," Jimmy said dryly. "I sure hope you don't drive that way in real life."

"I could," Tony said. "If I drove."

"You better not," Jimmy said. "Car accidents are an ugly way to die."

"How would you know?" Tony challenged. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

"I work for the ME, Tony," he said, half-exasperated. "I've seen the results of a lot of car accidents."

"What's an ME?" Tony asked.

"The medical examiner," Jimmy said, stopping just short of telling Tony that Dr. Mallard was an ME. "He looks at dead bodies and tells people what the victims died from."

"Cool." Tony's voice had switched from challenging to near-reverence. "Do you cut them up and stuff?"

"You really want to hear about it?" Jimmy asked. Tony had often told him to can it before when he'd give too much information about dealing with the dead.

"Yeah," Tony said. Jimmy could almost hear the 'duh' following his affirmation.

Jimmy shrugged. Why not. He settled onto the couch, the toy abandoned at his feet, and Tony sat down on the other end, watching him raptly. "Okay," he said. "So when there's a crime..."

* * *

"They'd locked his corpse in the freezer. It was beyond disgusting," Jimmy said, remembering. "The flesh had rotted nearly green and smelled so bad; I threw up on poor Dr. Mallard's feet—"

"Why was Ducky there?" Tony asked, feeling like he might puke himself. That was so gross!

"He's the ME," Jimmy said, forgetting that he hadn't planned to tell Tony that. "And he was nice enough about it; launched into a story about his first dead body, in fact, as he cleaned himself up. But we still had to deal with the poor man."

The image was stark in Tony's mind, and he was starting to regret having asked Jimmy to tell him about this.

"If there had been any more in my stomach, it certainly would have come up when we went to put him in a body bag and his entire arm, or what was left of it anyway, fell off and slithered down the front of my coveralls. It left a huge mess and driving back smelling like—."

"What the _hell_ are you telling him that for?" The smack came simultaneously.

Jimmy jumped so hard he launched himself to his feet, his hand going to the back of his head. He spun to face Gibbs, who was standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest, looking lethal. "S-sir?"

Tony had jumped too. He hadn't even known Gibbs was there; he'd been so engrossed by Jimmy's descriptions. He tucked his knees to his chest, peering up at the men standing over him. They didn't seem to even notice him.

"You really think you should be saying stuff like that to an _eleven-year-old_, Palmer?" Gibbs snapped. Tony dug himself deeply into the side of the couch, wishing he could just disappear. "Because that's what Tony is right now!"

Tony watched Jimmy's face go even paler than usual. "I'm s-s-sorry, Agent Gibbs! I wasn't—I forgot—I mean—I should have—"

"Damned straight you should have remembered! When he has nightmares, I'm gonna call you at 03:00 to talk him down! Honestly Palmer! A lick of common sense?"

"I—sorry! I didn't—I mean—" Jimmy looked to be hyperventilating. Tony ducked his head. He didn't want to watch if Gibbs was going to lose it. Gibbs had smacked Jimmy once; would he do it again? He wished, again, that he could be somewhere, anywhere, else than here.

Suddenly Gibbs sighed. "Damage done," he said gruffly, but at a much more normal volume, shaking his head. "Think you could find something to talk about that doesn't involve maimed bodies?" His words were still sharp.

"Uh, y-yes sir, Agent Gibbs," Palmer said, still standing up very straight. "I'm s-sorry—"

"Stop apologizing," Gibbs said. He finally turned his gaze towards Tony, who found himself shrinking back. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yes sir—Gibbs," Tony said, correcting himself just a bit too late. Gibbs nodded.

"C'mon into the kitchen, both of you," he said. "Dinner's ready."

"Uh, I should probably get going—" Jimmy said. Gibbs shook his head.

"Might as well eat first," he said. "Made enough for three."

Jimmy swallowed and nodded. "My insulin's in the car. I'll be right back." He bolted from the room faster than Tony would have thought he could.

Gibbs looked back down at Tony, who couldn't seem to make his limbs move. "You sure you're okay?" he asked again, his voice a little softer.

Tony finally managed to look Gibbs in the eyes. "Uh huh," he replied. He'd overreacted again, he decided. Gibbs yelled a lot, but even though he'd smacked Jimmy in the head, Tony didn't think he was cruel. And he knew cruel. His dad could be very cruel when he wasn't busy being charming and likable for others to see.

Gibbs reached out his hand. "C'mon then. I made spaghetti," he said.

Tony let Gibbs take his hand and pull him to his feet. "I like spaghetti," he said. "It's my favorite, even though it's a mess."

"Thought pizza was your favorite," Gibbs commented, heading into the kitchen.

"Well, yeah," Tony said. "But every once in a while, my mom makes spaghetti, and I love her spaghetti."

"Hope mine's up to snuff," Gibbs said. He tilted his head towards the table. "Have a seat."

Jimmy came in then, and looked nervously at Gibbs, but Gibbs just gestured towards the table. "Sit," he said.

He plopped a plate in front of Tony first, and then Jimmy. A can of Parmesan cheese sat in the middle of the small table.

"Help yourself,"he said, sitting with his own plate. He picked up his fork and stabbed at the noodles.

Tony twirled the strings of spaghetti around his fork expertly, and took a bite. It wasn't his Mom's, he mused, but it was pretty good.

* * *

"Night, Palmer," Gibbs said as his guest left, the remains of the car he'd brought earlier tucked under his arm.

"Goodnight, Agent Gibbs," Palmer replied with an awkward bob of his head.

Gibbs shut the door behind him, shaking his head. That Palmer was...interesting. He remembered a conversation with Ducky a few years back, where Ducky expressed an intense desire to slap the kid silly. Today, he got it. Telling Tony those stories _now_? What was the man thinking?

But Tony was in the living room, watching _The Fox and the Hound _and had been for nearly forty five minutes now; Palmer had sat and watched with him for awhile before returning to the kitchen to apologize, again, to Gibbs_. _Twenty minutes later, Gibbs managed to convince Palmer that he could stop apologizing, and then the young ME's assistant had ducked out.

_The Fox and the Hound._The movie had been Kelly's favorite. He'd kept it sentimentally, hidden behind other movies, and somehow, Tony had found it and dug it out. Gibbs found it cheerful though, not sad as he'd expected. He remembered more than one sick day, sitting with a sniffly, red-nosed Kelly on the couch and watching that movie.

He looked in. Tony was out cold, the flickering television lighting his position on the couch. Gibbs' couch was too short for Tony's long, lanky limbs, but he'd crunched himself onto it anyway, his knees bent nearly to his chest as he lay on his side. His neck was at an angle that Gibbs knew he'd regret in the morning.

He silently made his way to the television and turned it off, dropping the room into darkness. Should he wake him? Leave him there?

He walked over to the couch. "Tony," he said softly.

Tony didn't move.

He spoke a little louder. "Tony." Carefully, he reached his hand down and placed it on the sleeping kid's shoulder.

That woke him. Gibbs felt his body go stiff, and he heard the gasp of quickly taken breath. "Hey, it's just me," Gibbs said quietly. "C'mon. Bedtime."

He felt Tony relax under his hand. "Mmm," he said, sounding sleepy, like he was considering dropping back off.

"C'mon," Gibbs prodded again. He heard Tony sigh and then he struggled to a sitting position.

"I'm coming, Boss," he mumbled to his feet.

"Sometime tonight would be good," Gibbs said, although without any bite to the words. Inside, the gratitude he felt at hearing Tony call him 'Boss' again was ridiculous.

He watched as Tony stood. Once again, he put his hand on Tony's back and steered him out of the living room and down the hall. Tony plodded along, barely awake. His eyes weren't even open.

He dove headlong for the bed once in the room. Gibbs sighed. Well, it wouldn't hurt him to sleep in his clothes; he'd obviously been doing a fine job of it on the couch. He picked up the folded blanket from the end of the bed and settled it over Tony.

"Sleep tight," he said quietly. A snore was his only answer.

He left the door open and the hallway light on.

* * *

Gibbs fought his way to his feet, tangled in his blankets. Sleep still mired his thoughts, but he'd heard a childish, piercing cry, and it had him moving.

"Kelly?" he called, moving instinctively towards her room before his mind caught up with his body. Not Kelly. Another. An eleven year old. Tony.

Another cry, a strangled sob. Awake now, Gibbs bolted down the hall for Tony's room, fear making his heart thunder in his chest.


	11. Comfort

Author's Note: It's shorter than usual, but I realize I left everyone on a cliff-hanger, so I didn't figure anyone would mind.

I am at a bit of a loss as to where to go from here. Feel free to leave suggestions in your reviews; if I like it, I will shamelessly appropriate it. Otherwise, it may be a while before the next update.

Enjoy!

* * *

_He was in a basement he vaguely recognized. Gibbs was there too, and somehow, Tony wasn't afraid. He had a bottle in his hand, and he took an absentminded sip._

_It burned his mouth, hot, liquid fire. His father's favorite drink. He spit it out and dropped the bottle on the ground. It shattered into a thousand pieces, the liquor spreading over the floor._

"_What the hell are you doing?" he heard. He looked up again, and suddenly, it wasn't Gibbs standing there, but his father. His eyes were bulging and bloodshot, and he was furious. That had been_ his _liquor!_

_Tony ducked, putting his arms protectively over his head. He felt the crack of another bottle—where had it come from?--crashing against his skull. His world went dark._

_And suddenly, he realized he couldn't breathe. He was in a glass room, and there were blue lights shining down. Gibbs stood over him. "DiNozzo..." he heard. And then Tony noticed the water; were they in a fish tank? And he couldn't breathe because they were underwater. He flailed against the water, swimming for all he was worth, but he couldn't find the surface, and Gibbs was holding his legs, holding him under the water...no, it was his father! His father was holding him under, holding them both under, and he knew he had to get Gibbs, had to help him, or they would both drown! _

_He kicked hard, kicked his father right in the face, except then it was Gibbs again, and he was green and rotting and dead, and no one was holding him back anymore, but he had to rescue Gibbs. He grabbed Gibbs' cold, slimy hand and swam as hard as he could for the surface, but he couldn't reach it. And then, the weight he'd been pulling was gone. Another glance down; he was holding a rotting arm, but Gibbs wasn't attached to it. _

_Someone grabbed his arm and jerked him up through the water, and he screamed. His father had his arm, and his mom...what was wrong with her? He saw a spray of blood; a bullet hole in her forehead. No; no blood. Her face was whiter than he'd ever seen, eyes staring blankly as his father shoved him to the floor and began to beat him. Why wasn't she trying to help him? Why didn't she care? Why was she _watching_?_

_She was dead, he realized, and it hit him harder than any of his father's blows. Heedless, he opened his mouth and screamed. And screamed. And screamed._

* * *

He hit the light as he raced into the room. Now Tony was screaming full out, a high-pitched, ear-piercing cry that Gibbs never would have guessed his body could produce. Tangled in the sheets and blankets, Tony was absolutely drenched in sweat. Tears flowed down his cheeks.

"Tony!" Gibbs knelt on the edge of the bed, grabbed both of Tony's flailing arms and pinned them against the mattress, trying to prevent a fist to the face. The sheets worked themselves more tightly around Tony's torso as his legs thrashed. "Tony, wake up! It's okay, wake up!"

But the fierce fighting didn't stop, and neither did the screams. Gibbs leaned over the screaming kid, his heart pounding in his chest. "DiNozzo!" he roared in his best C.O. voice, hoping that it might break through to whatever was left of the senior field agent hiding behind that child.

The shriek came to an abrupt halt. Tony shrunk violently away from him as if he wished the bed would swallow him, but Gibbs didn't release his arms. "You with me, Tony?" Gibbs asked in a much softer voice. Tony was breathing hard, his arms shaking under Gibbs' hands.

"Gibbs?" The voice was raspy, strangled, and completely desperate. "Gibbs?"

"I'm right here," he answered quietly. He released Tony's arms and sat back on his heels so he wasn't looming over the boy.

He saw Tony swallow hard, and then his eyes met Gibbs'. He was startled at the utter fear he saw in those green orbs. "Really you?" Tony challenged again. "Alive?"

Gibbs nodded, noticing as Tony's eyes roved over him, taking in every detail. He put his hand over Gibbs' wrist and pulled hard. What was that about? But it seemed to satisfy him, and then Tony's eyes welled up, and he launched himself at Gibbs.

He'd seen the relief in Tony's eyes, so he let Tony crash into him and throw his arms around his neck. He managed to catch him and prevent them both from tumbling off the side of the bed. "It's okay," he murmured instinctively into Tony's hair. "Just a dream." It should have felt awkward, having Tony in his arms like that, but instead, it reminded him of comforting Kelly, despite the fact that Tony was at least three times her size.

"She was dead. A bullet in her forehead...but then not a bullet, because her face was so white...and Dad was...we were drowning...couldn't breathe. Blue lights, in a fish tank...you were rotting, green and rotting, like the corpse in the freezer..." Tony was babbling into his ear, shaking like a leaf.

Gibbs tightened his arms around the boy, mentally cursing Palmer again for planting those morbid images into Tony's head, and then it struck him. A bullet in the forehead...that was Kate. The fish tank with the blue lights was when Tony had Y-pestis. Drowning. Tony had saved him and Maddie from drowning. He was remembering things, and he didn't even realize it.

"...and I couldn't stop screaming...she was dead, Gibbs! Mom was dead!"

"Shhh," Gibbs soothed, wishing that Tony hadn't remembered his mother's death. "You're okay, Tony. You're safe. Everything is just how it was when you went to sleep." He found himself praying that Tony wouldn't ask him if his mother was really dead, because Gibbs didn't think he could handle lying about it, and Tony couldn't handle the truth right now. "C'mon, son. Take some deep breaths."

He could feel Tony's back rising and falling under his hand. "That's it," he said, encouraged that his breathing seemed to be returning to normal. Ever since the plague, he'd been inclined to worry about it. He patted Tony's back. "Keep breathing. You're all right."

Suddenly, Tony pulled away from him, quick as a flash. He was kneeling on the bed in a mirror image of Gibbs. He was still tangled in the covers from the waist down and he'd dropped his eyes. His hands were now wrapped protectively around his torso. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. His voice, rough as a cat's tongue, was absolutely devoid of emotion.

Gibbs was startled. What had happened? Tony had very nearly been in his lap a minute ago, and now he was back to calling him 'sir'? If he hadn't _known_ Tony had been sobbing into his shoulder mere moments ago, he would have thought HE was dreaming. What the hell? "Tony?"

"Yes sir."

"Tony..." Gibbs was completely unsure of what to say. Tony didn't utter a word. So he just said what was running through his head. "What the hell is going on?"

There wasn't any bite in his words, but Tony flinched anyway. And Gibbs realized.

"Look at me," Gibbs said softly. Tony's eyes glanced up, then shot down again. "Look at me," he said again, and finally, Tony's eyes met his. "Tony, it's okay. You're not in trouble. You're safe here with me."

"I'm sorry I woke you," Tony said. It sounded like he was pleading. "I didn't mean to."

"Don't be sorry," Gibbs said. "Can't help a bad dream."

Tony's eyes dropped again. "Really didn't mean to," he mumbled. It made Gibbs' heart ache. No child, no person, should be afraid of waking someone because of a nightmare. Being comforted from a nightmare should be a child's birthright. He very gently put his left hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony flinched.

"I promise you," Gibbs said, pretending he hadn't seen. "I'll always have your six. You're safe with me. Not gonna get mad at you for something that's not even your fault, and I'm not gonna hurt you."

Those green eyes jumped up again. Gibbs wondered if Tony was making himself dizzy. His eyes were piercing into Gibbs' own now, and the question in them was as plain as if Tony had shouted it. _Prove it._

"I'm a marine," he said in answer to that silent query. "Semper fi. Always faithful. We never make a promise we don't keep." He put his other hand out. "Never."

After a long pause, Tony reached out and shook it. "Okay," he said quietly in that coarse voice.

There was a moment where they both were silent, and then Gibbs stood up, patting Tony's shoulder. "C'mon," he said. "Kitchen. Tea."

* * *

Tony sat at the table, cradling a mug of tea in his hands. Gibbs had made it, gesturing at the table as he filled the tea kettle. Tony had watched as he poured honey into two mugs. "Good for your throat," Gibbs had said by way of explanation. Other than that, he hadn't spoken, placing the mug on the table in front of him.

The concoction _was_ good, he decided as he slowly sipped it. He could feel the warmth soothing his throat. How long had he been screaming, that he'd woken Gibbs and given himself such a sore throat?

He looked at the man sitting across the table from him. He seemed to be deeply contemplating his own mug of tea, his eyes on the surface of the dark liquid.

Semper fi, he'd said. Always faithful. A marine doesn't make a promise he doesn't keep. I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe with me. It sounded good, and Tony could hardly stand how much he _wanted_ to believe it. But did he dare?

He'd seen Gibbs smack Jimmy in the head today. Pretty hard, too. But then he'd invited him to dinner. And he hadn't seemed mad during dinner; he'd even joked with them both.

And he'd whacked Tim upside the head the other day, when Tony had asked to shave his head. But later, when they'd been wrestling in the living room, Gibbs had been trying hard not to smile; Tony had seen it in his eyes. He hadn't stayed angry.

And he hadn't _hurt_ either of them. Not that the smack hadn't probably hurt, the way Jimmy had been rubbing his head, but it had only been once, and they were okay. He hadn't _hurt_ hurt them. More than once, when his mom wasn't around, his dad had beaten him until he passed out. Even when Mom was around, sometimes his father would whip his butt so hard that the belt broke the skin. He couldn't imagine Gibbs doing either of those things.

Yeah, he could be rough and scary sometimes. But he wasn't mean, wasn't cruel. Tony had been so afraid when he'd woken up with Gibbs holding him down on the bed. But Gibbs hadn't looked angry, just...scared? And he'd let go of him right away. Tony had been so relieved that Gibbs really was alive that he'd hugged him. His father would have had a fit. DiNozzos did not act like children, crying like that in front of another person and hugging them. But Gibbs hadn't even cared. He'd hugged him back, for goodness sake!

He wanted to believe him, so badly it hurt. And Gibbs had been, well, nice. Nicer than he would have ever expected; nicer than he deserved. He'd tried so hard to be good, but he'd messed up more than once, and Gibbs hadn't snapped yet. Would he? Or was he safe, like he'd promised?

He swallowed the last mouthful of honey-tea and looked over at Gibbs again. Those blue eyes caught his.

"Ready for bed?" he asked quietly.

Tony considered. He nodded. Gibbs stood.

"C'mon, then," he said. "I'll tuck you in."

Maybe, Tony thought wistfully. Maybe he could believe.

* * *

Once again, he guided Tony down the hallway with a hand on his shoulder. He had relaxed over the tea; Gibbs had watched him out of the corner of his eye. He'd been deep in thought, it seemed, his forehead wrinkling.

Once inside the room, Tony didn't tumble back into the bed like Gibbs had expected. Instead, he turned so they were face to face. He didn't speak, though.

"Tony?" Gibbs asked.

Tony looked like he was debating with himself. He must have lost, Gibbs thought as he watched Tony tuck his lips into his mouth and glance down before turning back to the bed and sitting.

"You okay?"

Tony bobbed his head, still not lying down.

"You need something?"

His lips disappeared again. Gibbs just waited.

"Can you...uh," Tony stopped himself again.

Gibbs glanced at the clock. 02:56. "What do you want?" he asked simply. It probably would be something small, and then Gibbs could get back to bed, which his tired bones definitely wanted.

"I don't want to be alone in the dark." It was nearly a whisper.

"Scared of the dark?" he asked. Tony's hesitant little nod only confirmed his earlier suspicions. "That's easy enough," Gibbs replied. He turned and left the room. He'd thrown a bunch of junk into the hall closet when he'd cleaned out the guest room, and he knew he'd seen a lamp among the mess.

He looked into the closet. It was over-full, but luckily, nothing tumbled down on him. He'd balanced it well. Now, where was that lamp? He'd put it on top of a box...

It only took him a minute to dig it out. He carried it back into Tony's room. "Found it," he said, plugging it in at the side of the bed. Tony had used the time he'd spent looking for it to change into his Navy sweats, and was now perched on the side of the bed, his knees drawn up to his chin, arms clasped around them.

"You don't mind?" Tony looked between Gibbs and the lamp a couple times. "It's okay to...I can sleep with the lights on?" He sounded a little wary, as though Gibbs might pull the plug and say it had only been a trick.

"You can," Gibbs said, turning and flipping off the overhead light. Poor kid, couldn't trust much of anything. Gibbs wished he could change that. He wished he'd known before. "C'mon, lay down."

Tony obediently swung his feet up onto the bed. Gibbs fought the sigh.

"Under the blankets," he directed. Tony squirmed his way underneath without disturbing the tightly tucked in sides. It was impressive, actually, bordering on an athletic feat.

He sat down on the side of the bed. "You gonna be okay to sleep now?" he asked, looking down at Tony's surprisingly vulnerable eyes peeking out from under the covers. Those green eyes met his own.

"Yeah," Tony said. His eyes, though, begged Gibbs to see something else besides that simple word.

Gibbs sighed again. Kelly would have just crawled into his bed, making her way in between himself and Shannon. "You want me to stay?" he asked, already knowing the answer as the words left his mouth.

Tony's eyes went wide and hopeful. "You...would?"

Hell, if it meant he got to sleep, he would have crashed in the bathtub. He'd slept next to Tony before; on a case where there had been some kind of mix up in booking a hotel room, they'd ended up at a shabby little motel off the beaten track. In a way that generally only happened in movies, they'd had one room open. He, Tony, Ziva and Tim had all smashed themselves into the one king size bed, as the carpet looked and smelled as though someone had gotten violently ill on it. It had been an uncomfortable night; he'd woken with Tony's face in his armpit, and Ziva's elbow lodged in his kidney. But he had slept. And that was all he wanted right now.

"Move over," Gibbs said, pulling the sheets out from where Tony had tucked them in along the side of the bed. Tony scrambled over until the wall stopped him.

Gibbs got into the bed and pulled the covers over himself. "Now you can sleep?" he asked Tony, turning his head.

Tony's eyes were shut. He nodded sleepily. "Uh huh," he murmured. "G'night, Boss."

Despite himself, Gibbs smiled just a little. "Night, Tony."


	12. Soda

Please go to my author page and vote about whether or not you want to see Tony get spanked in this story. Also, feel free to leave comments about that in the reviews.

* * *

He'd considered calling in for some of that vacation time Jenny had always tried to make him take, but in the end, he decided to just bring Tony with him. He was better behaved nowadays than he'd ever been as his usual, fully-grown self—how much trouble could the kid get into on a Navy base? Anyway, Abby wouldn't mind the company, and if Tony got bored, Gibbs had faith she could think of half a dozen decent ways to keep him entertained in that lab of hers.

"C'mon, Tony, get a move on," he said, sticking his head in the door. Gibbs had been awake for nearly an hour now, waking naturally at the break of dawn. Tony had slept on, oblivious. Was still sleeping on, oblivious. Gibbs sighed. He entered the room and shook Tony's shoulder. "Tony..."

Tony came awake quickly, but when he turned his head and saw Gibbs, he relaxed again and buried his face in his pillow. Gibbs sighed. "No, c'mon. Get up. Gotta get to work."

"I don't have work," Tony mumbled.

"No, but I do. You're coming with me. Now come on."

Tony sat up reluctantly. His hair was sticking up at all angles.

"Shower," Gibbs directed. "Breakfast in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Tony echoed.

"Nine!" Gibbs replied as he walked out of the room.

He was surprised that Tony made it to the kitchen in seven, dressed and showered. "That was quick," Gibbs remarked.

"Didn't want you to leave me," Tony said by way of explanation.

Gibbs jerked his head towards the cupboards. "Grab some breakfast. We have to get going."

* * *

Tony looked out the window as Gibbs drove. Sometimes, he'd swear that he recognized something, but just as soon, he'd know he didn't. In fact, he realized that he had absolutely no idea where they were. For all he knew, they could be in Kansas.

Gibbs pulled into a parking lot in a strip mall. "You work here?" Tony asked, surprised. "I thought—"

"Getting coffee," Gibbs explained. "Want some?"

Tony shrugged. He wasn't much for coffee, really. Gibbs nodded and walked into the building, which had a sign above the door that read STARBOCKS COFFEE. Huh. But Gibbs had already been drinking coffee this morning...

After about five minutes, Gibbs came out the door holding a white cup in one hand and a...was that a smoothie? in the other. He opened the car door while Tony watched and stuck his hand inside. "Here," he said.

Tony took the drink from his hand as Gibbs got settled back into the car and took a sip. It was as delicious as it looked, and tasted like strawberry and banana and milk. "Thank you," Tony said. A smoothie, this early in the morning? Mom would not approve...but he sure did.

"Welcome," Gibbs replied, putting the car in gear. Tony could smell burning rubber as they left the parking lot.

"So, Abby said you were her boss," Tony said a little hesitantly. Gibbs didn't seem to talk much, and Tony wasn't completely sure his attempts at conversation would be welcome. His father hated when he would ramble on. "And she said she works for NCIS, which is like a government agency, seeing who killed people by testing their spit for DNA. Is that what you do too?"

He saw Gibbs shake his head out of the corner of his eye. "Nope," he said. "I'm an NCIS Special Agent. I do the legwork. Go out into the field and ask people questions, mostly."

It didn't sound like what Tony thought a special agent would do. Wasn't James Bond a special agent? And he spent a lot of time trying not to get blown up and rescuing people from villains. "I thought a special agent was like, James Bond or something," Tony confessed.

He saw Gibbs smirk for just a second. "Kind of," he said. "I don't think people try to bomb us as often as they do James Bond."

"Well, James Bond is in a movie," Tony reminded him. "So you should be glad they don't, because unlike James Bond, you could die." A hint of last night's nightmare flashed through his head. Tony kept talking to banish the image. "He never dies, he's never gonna die, because if they bombed him and killed James Bond, then he couldn't be in another movie, and that would screw things up. I mean, 008 just doesn't have the right sound to it, you know?"

Gibbs turned towards a gate. A woman in a uniform stood inside it. "ID?" she asked. He watched, fascinated, as Gibbs flashed his badge at her. "And yours, Agent DiNozzo?"

"He's with me, Kim," Gibbs said. There was a long pause, and Tony got the distinct impression he was missing something, but finally, the lady nodded. "Thank you, Agent Gibbs," she replied, waving him in and pushing a button that opened the gate.

"She called me Agent DiNozzo," Tony said. "What's that about?"

Gibbs glanced over at him. "You don't remember this place at all?" he asked. Tony shook his head.

"I should?" he asked.

Gibbs nodded. "You used to work here."

"No way," Tony said, astounded. "I mean...what would I even do here?" This was like something out of a movie. In real life, kids didn't work at government agencies. Maybe that was how he'd gotten stuck in this huge, old body that was so different and weird. Some kind of science experiment gone wrong, like what happened to Peter Parker or something. Did that mean there was someone else out there running around in his old body? "I'd think I would remember that," he mused.

Gibbs didn't answer, only pulled his car into an impossibly narrow spot. "C'mon," he said, changing the subject. "I bet Abby's already here, waiting to see you. I'm surprised she didn't show up at the house this morning."

* * *

"Tony!" Abby shrieked, watching as Gibbs ushered him into her lab. "I'm so glad you're here! I wasn't sure if Gibbs was going to call a babysitter for you or if he was going to bring you in, but I'm really glad he brought you in, because, well, I think I'm more fun than any babysitter Gibbs could find. You'd end up with Fornell on your back, and that would just be trouble, since you know, he's never been your—oh, Caf-Pow!" She took the drink Gibbs offered and gave him a hug around the neck. "Don't you worry, Gibbs. Me and Tony will be just fine down here." She took a few steps backwards and set the Caf-Pow on top of one of the tables.

Gibbs hands moved. _Don't scare him, Abby,_ he warned behind Tony's back. She glanced at Tony's face; he did seem a little overwhelmed. He was clutching a large soda in his left hand, looking nervous. Afraid of her? Well, she knew how to fix that.

_Ok. _She grabbed Tony's free hand, ignoring Gibbs' glare. "You wanna play some computer games, Tony? I've got Tetris," she offered.

Tony nodded and glanced back over his shoulder at Gibbs.

"Abby knows where to find me if you need me," Gibbs said. "Right, Abs?"

"Of course," Abby replied. She grinned conspiratorially at Tony, trying to put him at ease. "But we're not gonna need him are we, Tony? I bet I've got enough computer games on there to keep you busy till kingdom come!"

"Bye, Gibbs," Tony said, and turned back to Abby. He sounded just a little nervous to Abby's ear, and she put her arm around him.

"Now, don't worry, Tony. Really, he's just upstairs, and if I know the bossman, and believe me, I know the bossman, he'll be down here as soon as Major Mass Spectrometer has any kind of word for him. Here. Let me show you how to work this game." She pulled out the chair at her computer and gestured for him to take a seat. "Go on."

It only took a minute for Tony to catch on, and she smiled as he started flying through the levels. "Feel free to look through the games," she told him. "You installed half of them, so there's got to be more than one game on there that you'll like. And if you need me, I'll be in the lab. Okay?"

Tony nodded, never taking his eyes off the screen. "Uh huh," he said. He sounded preoccupied.

Abby was satisfied that Tony was fine, and she quietly left him in her office, returning to the lab to work on his case. She cranked up her music and dove in.

* * *

Tony wasn't sure how much time had passed when he suddenly, urgently remembered his bladder. He clicked the pause button on the side of the game. Man, he'd better get moving or he was likely to pee himself! How had he not noticed for so long?

He opened the door separating Abby's office from her lab. Abby had her back to him and she looked busy, although he hadn't the faintest idea what she was doing. Her music was deafening.

Well, there really wasn't any reason to bother her, Tony reasoned. He could read; he'd be able to find the bathroom by himself. And he'd better hurry about that, because if he didn't...

He scurried across the floor and out of Abby's lab, moving pretty fast. Where on earth was a bathroom?

He came to a crossway in the hall, and picked quickly, left, and kept moving. "Come on, come on, come on," he muttered under his breath. He'd cut it awfully close.

And then, it caught his eye. The universal symbols for 'bathroom' along with arrows. "Yes!" he crowed triumphantly, ignoring the odd look a passing woman in a business suit gave him.

It took him another minute to follow the twists and turns of the arrow to the actual restroom, and by the time he got there, he felt thoroughly discombobulated. The building hadn't seemed this big from the parking garage...

Well, no matter. He could find his way back, no problem. No problem.

* * *

"Why did you bring Tony with you today, Boss?" McGee asked.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. McGee hurried to explain. "Not that that's a bad thing or anything, but, um...I don't know. It's just, shouldn't he be...I don't know. Sleeping or something? He injured his head."

"It is not advisable to sleep too much when one has a head injury," Ziva said in that matter-of-fact way of hers, and McGee could have kicked himself. Duh. He knew that; what a stupid thing to say. And Gibbs just kept watching him. He swallowed uncomfortably.

"Uh, right. Awake. But, um...here?"

Gibbs gave him a look. "And where exactly do you suggest I find a babysitter for an eleven-year-old inhabiting the body of a thirty-something? Not like I can just send him off to school, McGee."

"Right, boss," McGee said. He could feel his cheeks burning, and he ducked his head to hide the flush. "I'll shut up now."

"You do that," Gibbs said, turning back to his paperwork with a sigh.

McGee sighed too. Not for the first time, he missed Tony. At least if he'd been here, it would have been Tony saying stupid things that drew Gibbs' attention. Then again, if Tony were here, Gibbs would have a higher threshold for Probie stupidity.

* * *

He'd gotten himself lost. How, he wasn't sure...he'd thought he just needed to take two lefts, a right, and another left to end up back in Abby's lab, but instead, he'd made his way into...a storage closet? There were piles and piles of dusty boxes stacked on top of one another here. Tony sneezed.

Well, no use in freaking out. The building wasn't that big. He could surely find his way back. Maybe it was one left and two rights. It was worth a try, anyway. He closed the door to the storage closet and started to back-trace his steps.

* * *

"Yes!" Abby crowed triumphantly as Major Mass Spectrometer beeped loudly, announcing that he'd found a match for the print she'd been searching for. She took a long sip from her Caf-Pow. Gibbs would be pleased, pleased enough to provide her a refill.

"What'd you find, Abs?" Right on cue, Gibbs came into the lab, setting another gigantic Caf-Pow in front of her.

"We've got a match, Gibbs," she said. She turned to the computer. "A Lance Corporal Justin Dawes. Prior demotions for insubordination and a charge of drunk and disorderly when he was on leave in—"

"Abs, where's Tony?" Gibbs interrupted.

"Huh?" Abby was completely thrown. "Tony? He's playing Tetris in my office." She glanced over her shoulder at Gibbs, who was staring towards her office. She followed his gaze.

Tony wasn't sitting at her computer. In fact, she couldn't see him at all. But the game was on pause, the screen visible from where they stood. "Uh..." Abby replied. "Well, he was playing Tetris in my office." She glanced back at Gibbs again and then raced over to her office. The doors were clear, but she entered anyway, wondering if he was hiding in some niche. Not that there were really any spaces big enough to hide Tony's lanky frame...

He wasn't in there. She turned back to Gibbs. "He was here just a...a..." Now that she thought about it, she'd been so absorbed she hadn't checked on him in at least a half an hour. "He probably went to the bathroom," Abby said. She glanced at the soda he'd left next to the mouse; it was empty. "Yeah. See?" She picked up the empty cup and gave it a shake. Ice cubes rattled around the bottom of it.

Gibbs sighed. "I'll go check the head. You ask Ducky if he made his way over to autopsy somehow." He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed-dial. Moments later, Abby heard Ziva's crisp accent through the phone.

"Tony find his way up there?" Gibbs asked, heading out the door. Abby sighed, then followed him. Might as well take a minute and see if by some chance Tony'd gotten bored and found his way into autopsy. Ducky had enough stories to keep him entertained for a long time, after all.

* * *

"No Gibbs. I have not seen height nor hair of him," Ziva said.

"It's 'hide' Ziva," Gibbs heard McGee correct. "Hide nor hair."

"Whatever. I have not seen any of him, not hide, not hair, and not feet!" Ziva snapped back. "Is he lost?"

"Abby's looking for him with Ducky and Palmer," Gibbs replied as he started up the stairs.

"He couldn't have gone that far," McGee butted in. "I mean, it's not like he'd leave the building."

"Remember he's a kid, McGee. Maybe he got bored and decided to go play outside," Gibbs said. "It's not impossible." He found himself worrying, even though his famous gut didn't tell him it was necessary. Then again, how would his gut know what to do with this particular situation?

"He would not leave the Navy yard," Ziva said. "Even if he did go outside, one of the guards would notice if he tried to leave the yard on foot."

"McGee--"

"Calling security," McGee said.

"Ziva?"

"I will call Abby and make sure she hasn't found him already."

"If she has, good," Gibbs said. "If not, we're gonna look for him. If he isn't in this building, we have a problem." He hung up as he walked into the bullpen.

He watched as Ziva talked tersely to Abby via the telephone. She shook her head. Gibbs heard her say, "We are going to search for him in the building, Abby. Do not worry. He is fine. He just got lost. He cannot get in too much trouble while he is in the Navy Yard. Perhaps you and Palmer can spare some time to look for him?"

Gibbs sighed and turned to McGee. He shook his head. "No one's seen him; they radioed around. But they'll all keep their eyes open. I've told them about his, um, unusual situation."

Gibbs nodded. "Alright, then. Let's look for him. Like Ziva said, if security hasn't seen him, then he's still in the building."

They split up.

* * *

"Gibbs already looked down here, Jimmy!" Abby protested. "Let's go look upstairs."

Jimmy didn't look sure. "There are a lot of hallways down here, Abby. He didn't check them all, surely?"

"If he was down here, Gibbs would have found him!" Abby insisted. "Maybe he found MTAC or something and got distracted."

"Don't you need a security code to get into MTAC?" Jimmy asked.

That made her pause. "But--"

"We can split up and make sure we check all the hallways. There are a lot of hallways," Jimmy reiterated. "C'mon, Abby."

"Okay," Abby capitulated finally. "But if we don't find him down here, you owe me a Caf-Pow."

* * *

Before he'd just felt silly; now he felt stupid and was bordering on nervous. How had he gotten so lost? All these rooms looked alike, and he wasn't completely sure that they _were_ different rooms. He'd gotten himself turned in circles. Abby was going to be mad when he didn't come back. And Gibbs would be even madder. He'd said he wouldn't get mad at Tony for something that wasn't his fault, but if he'd just asked Abby where the bathroom was, he never would have gotten himself in the mess. He felt nervous butterflies awakening in his stomach. He was in so much trouble.

What was he even supposed to do? There weren't signs anywhere, as though a person would just know their way around. But this was a maze. They should have put signs up.

He opened another door, into another identical room with a table, a few chairs, and a big mirror on the wall. How many of these rooms were there anyway? And what on earth would they need them for?

He backed out of the room and sat down in the narrow hallway with his back against the wall. He looped his arms around his knees. He'd just sit and wait. He'd heard somewhere that if you got lost, you were supposed to stay still and let someone find you. Of course, that was for out in the woods or something like that, and it also assumed someone was looking for you. What if no one was looking anyway? Maybe Gibbs had been relieved that he'd run off.

He rested his chin on his knee. He'd wait for a little while, anyway. Someone would have to come down here eventually, and he could ask them how to get out. After all, they wouldn't build a bunch of hallways that no one ever used, would they?

He tried very hard not to think of all the places in his own house that no one ever used or went into. He tried.

* * *

"Tony!' Jimmy called as he walked down yet another hallway. He didn't usually spend much time down here where interrogation went on, and he could see how someone could get lost; all the hallways looked the same. Likely on purpose, Jimmy thought. After all, if a scared suspect tried to bolt, he'd have a hard time finding his way out of the endless maze of identical halls that looped back and around each other.

"Oof!" Jimmy tripped, not seeing him until he was already falling. He managed to catch himself on his palms, and felt the sting as the carpet abraded his palms. "Ouch!"

"Jimmy!" It was Tony, crouched against the wall, who had accidentally tripped him up. "I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

Jimmy rolled over and sat up. "Are you okay?" he asked. They were face to face. "What are you doing down here?"

Tony's lip shook a little bit. He opened his mouth and a torrent of words flowed out. "I got lost. I didn't mean to. I couldn't find the bathroom, and then I really couldn't find my way back, and I don't even know how I ended up here. I know I should have told Abby. I'm really sorry! And I'm sorry that I tripped you."

"It's okay. Agent Gibbs will be glad you're alright," Jimmy said, patting Tony's upturned knee with a stinging palm. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his scrubs and dialed Dr. Mallard. "I found him, Doctor," he said.

"Splendid!" Dr. Mallard said through the phone. "I'll tell Jethro. Bring him back to autopsy, please, Mr. Palmer. I'm sure he's just fine, but Jethro will want me to look him over."

"Yes sir," Jimmy replied, relieved that Dr. Mallard would tell Agent Gibbs that Tony had been found. Despite everything, Jimmy still had a healthy fear of the gruff Special Agent. "We're on our way now."

He hung up and got to his feet. "C'mon, Tony," he said. Tony didn't move.

"Tony?" Jimmy questioned. Even if he hadn't known that Tony's mind was like an eleven year old's, the way he sat and the expression on his face screamed that he was a frightened kid. "You're okay, aren't you? Did something happen?" He was suddenly worried, although he didn't know of what. After all, what could possibly happen to a special agent, even a disabled one, in the safety of the Navy Yard?

"He's gonna be really mad at me," Tony mumbled. "I didn't mean to get lost."

"He won't be mad, Tony," Jimmy said, praying he was right. "Nobody gets lost on purpose. Agent Gibbs knows that." Ignoring his stinging palm, he extended a hand to his friend who sat curled up on the floor. "C'mon. You've got to be getting hungry. It's nearly lunchtime."

He pulled Tony to his feet and was surprised when Tony clung to his hand for dear life. The poor kid was terrified. "Tony?" he asked, facing him and disregarding his sore hand. "You sure you're okay?"

Tony nodded and let go of him. He straightened his shoulders, and Jimmy suddenly got a flash of what Tony DiNozzo had looked like as an eleven-year-old—serious round hazel eyes and nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. "Gotta face the music," he said as though he were announcing his impending death.

Jimmy put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised," he said. "Come on. I don't know about you, but I think I'm ready for lunch."

But he felt regret at Tony's fear. No one should be so nervous about an honest mistake, especially one that hadn't hurt anyone. If Gibbs got mad, well, Jimmy would just give him a piece of his mind. Because as nervous as Gibbs made him, he would still protect his friend from any unfair treatment on the part of the gruff marine.

And although Jimmy didn't realize it, he too squared his shoulders.

* * *

The relief he felt when Palmer escorted Tony into Autopsy nearly made Gibbs weak in the knees. It was ridiculous; Tony had never been in danger. He still stepped forward and took Tony by the shoulders. "You're ok?" he asked; his voice sounded rough to his own ears. He didn't miss Tony's flinch.

"Now, Agent Gibbs," Palmer said, pulling himself to his full height, "it was an honest mistake, and I would hope you wouldn't be angry at him for getting lost, because really, it could happen to anyone—"

Gibbs cut him off; the kid was starting to take after Ducky with those long, rambling speeches of his. "I know, Palmer," he said. He looked at Tony, who was staring at his shoulder. "You okay, Tony?"

"Uh huh," Tony replied. "I didn't mean to—"

"Nothing to apologize for," Gibbs said. "Just tell Abby next time so you don't scare everyone, okay?"

Now Tony's eyes darted to his. "You aren't mad?" He sounded hesitantly hopeful

"Did you get lost on purpose?" Gibbs asked rhetorically. Tony shook his head fervently.

"No. I really didn't mean to; all those hallways look alike and I couldn't figure out which one led back here..." Tony trailed off. Gibbs nodded. He could see it happening.

"Didn't think so. No one's mad. You'll tell Abby where you're going next time, right?"

"Uh huh," Tony replied. He looked relieved. Gibbs ruffled Tony's hair, and was pleased when the boy didn't flinch again.

"Now, you're gonna let Ducky check you over, and then we'll find you some lunch. Sound like a plan?" Gibbs asked.

Tony gave him a sly look. "How about Ducky doesn't have to check me over, and we just go get lunch?" he asked.

Gibbs snorted. "Duck?"

Ducky put his hand on Tony's shoulder and steered him towards an empty table. "Come now, my dear boy, it'll just take a minute. You did give us quite a fright there for a moment. It reminded me of when Mr. Palmer started working here..."

* * *

"Tony! I'm so glad you're alright! Don't you go scaring me like that again, Mister, do you hear me? I thought something awful had happened!" Abby's hug nearly swallowed him, but he found he didn't mind.

"Don't strangle him, Abby," Gibbs said mildly from off to Tony's right.

"You'll tell me next time, right? Even if I'm in the middle of something, it's totally okay to interrupt me. You do...did, it all the time. And Gibbs is always popping up out of nowhere. So don't worry about that, okay? I don't want you to get lost again." She finally released him. "Okay?" she repeated.

Tony nodded. "I'm sorry, Abby," he said. "I was really glad when Jimmy found me," he admitted. "I thought I was going to be lost down there forever."

"No, never!" Abby said. "We would never let you get lost, Tony! And God knows you've tried, too, hasn't he, Gibbs?"

Gibbs nodded, a little smile on his lips.

"Well, I just kept thinking that maybe no one ever went down there and it would be a really long time before someone remembered me. Like my house, we've got kind of a lot of places like that," Tony said. He'd worried about it right until Jimmy had tripped over him. He hadn't even heard him coming; he might have fallen asleep for a minute or two. But only a minute or two. No way he could have slept longer than that!

"No one could forget about you," Abby said.

Tony swallowed. _Wrong_, he thought, remembering how his father had forgotten about him in the basement. If Lupe hadn't come downstairs with a basket of laundry, no one would have let him out. She'd cried out in Spanish when she saw him sitting on the stairs and then switched to English. "You are okay? Mrs. DiNozzo is so worried, she think you run away! How you get locked in?" A question he couldn't answer, didn't know how to answer.

"Although apparently someone could forget about _me_," she said. She looked at Gibbs then. "How come you didn't call me right away when you found him?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"Wanted Ducky to have a chance to look him over without an audience," Gibbs said. He didn't seem to mind Abby's tone; his father would have been really mad that she was being disrespectful. "Anyway, Palmer only found him ten minutes ago."

"That's a long time to worry, Gibbs," Abby said.

"Won't do it again, Abs," he said, holding his hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

"You'd better not," Abby said. She blew air through her bangs and then said, "How 'bout you make it up to me. Buy me lunch?"

Gibbs only paused for a second. "What do you want?" he asked.

Abby hugged him. "I don't care. Although I wouldn't turn down a refill of Caf-Pow. Tony?"

"Uh...pizza?" he suggested. He was always ready for pizza.

"Sure," Gibbs said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Except..." Tony said, and then stopped. Maybe this wasn't a good time for a joke? Gibbs raised his eyebrows in silent question.

Well, he'd halfway said it; might as well finish it off. "Maybe a medium soda this time?"

Abby giggled. And after a second, Tony did too.


	13. Discomfort

Okay! The people have spoken, and there will be no spanking in this story. Thanks for the input.

* * *

"I can't keep bringing him here, Duck," Jethro said. Ducky nodded but didn't look at his friend, as he was busy examining the body on his table. "He got lost in the Navy Yard, for God's sake. I didn't think he could get in trouble here, but I forgot that Tony can find trouble wherever he goes, even, apparently, as an eleven year old."

"No harm came of it, Jethro. The lad was simply a little shook up," Ducky reminded his friend. He looked up into Jethro's icy blue eyes. "However, I do agree that it would be impractical to bring him to NCIS every day with you."

"I keep thinking he's gonna be better," Jethro said. "Sometimes he'll look at me and say something that makes me think he remembers. And then he turns around and he's, well, eleven again. I mean, last night..." Jethro trailed off, shaking his head.

"What happened last night?" Ducky prodded mildly, carefully examining the young lance corporal's face and making note of the bruising patterns. Jethro was not unlike Anthony in that showing overmuch interest would cause him to stop talking.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ducky saw Jethro bury his face in his hands. His friend's shoulders rose as he took a deep breath. "He fell asleep on the couch; I got him to his room. He called me 'Boss'. Was out like a light."

Ducky stayed silent, knowing there was more to the story.

"Sounded just like, well, like DiNozzo always sounds." Jethro took another breath. "But around 02:30 I hear screaming from his room and I ran in there, and the kid was a mess. Screamed like when Kelly had growing pains and would scream from her legs hurting."

There was a long pause. Ducky knew he was contemplating his daughter from the soft look in his eyes. He gave his head a little shake and continued.

"Once I got him to come around, he started babbling about his nightmare...Kate, the Y-pestis, when Maddie and I nearly drowned, his mother's death...he was remembering, although I don't think he realized it. But he was a kid, Duck. Just a kid, with a godawful nightmare. Not my senior field agent."

The silence then was long, and when Ducky glanced up again, Gibbs was staring him down. Ducky sighed and turned away from the lance corporal.

"His mind is still a child's, Jethro. Honestly, the swelling has gone away; I would have expected him to regain his memory by now. You may never get your senior field agent back." He could see how those words hit his friend, and he pulled off his gloves and patted his shoulder. "But he needs you. He's always needed you, I believe, but we never realized how much until this occurred. And I know that you care about him less like a coworker and more like a son, and don't try to tell me you don't, Jethro."

He had expected Jethro to deny it, but to his surprise, the man just bobbed his head. Always taciturn, Ducky mused.

"Now, I don't think it will work to bring him here all the time. But perhaps...Mother used to go to an adult daycare center until she lost too much of her mental functioning; something like that might work for Tony," he suggested.

Jethro looked like he might be sick. "Adult daycare...for Tony?" His voice sounded unsure, almost weak. "I just...can't believe..." Ducky couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Jethro sound so lost.

He squeezed his friend's shoulder. "I know," he said sadly. "But remember, you are not alone, and neither is Anthony. We will figure it out, my friend."

And the two men stood silently in the morgue, grieving together.

* * *

Abby checked on Tony for the fifth time in an hour. He was still curled up on her little couch with Tim's book, _Deep_ _Six_, clutched in his hands. He seemed absorbed.

She remembered the uproar that book had caused when it had first came out; the whole team had been irate. Except for her, although she'd thought the romance between McGregor and Amy had been a bit over the top, considering they had only dated for a little while...but hey, she understood artistic license. She also could understand why Jimmy hadn't appreciated being portrayed as a necrophiliac...

She glanced at him again. He read quickly. Already, he'd gone through half an inch worth of pages. She knew that Tony was more than the party-loving, sexaholic fratboy that he pretended to be, but she would admit, even if it was just in her own mind, she hadn't expected him to be a fast reader.

Silly thing to think about. She turned back to Major Mass Spec. "Tony," she said over her shoulder. "Remember, if you're gonna go somewhere, tell me."

"I will," Tony mumbled. He never looked up from the book.

She smiled and started preparing another batch for the Major to look over.

* * *

_ He put his hand out. "Lisa, wait," he said with a desperation that stopped the beautiful woman in her tracks. He cocked his head to the side._

_ Lisa concentrated. The sound was distant, as though it traveled through a long tunnel. Was that...surely not. The girls couldn't be this close. "They are here?" she breathed, horrified to realize that those whimpers were coming from human mouths._

_ Tommy started making signals with his hands that made no sense. Lisa narrowed her eyes. "Tommy, stop playing around," she hissed in an undertone. There was nothing funny about this situation. Could he never be appropriate? She raised her eyebrows in a matter that could be called nothing less than menacing._

_ Tommy rolled his eyes and put his palms up in the universal sign for surrender. He beckoned; at least she understood that. She nodded and pulled her gun from its holster._

_ They were going in._

Tony took a deep breath and looked away from the page. He wasn't stupid; it had only taken him a few pages to realize that this was a book about Gibbs and the other people on his team. He wondered how Tim had thought of the plot—did they really work cases like this one? Prostitution and drugs and the mafia? That was the stuff of movies, not the real world. But Tim wrote in a way that was convincing; he must know something about it.

It was kind of weird, realizing that he must be Agent Tommy. Especially since Agent Tommy and Lisa had some kind of strange romance between them. They seemed to hate each other a lot, but then, sometimes, they would have these moments where Lisa would think about kissing Tommy, and Tommy would think about kissing Lisa, and then something would happen to distract them and they didn't. Until they did. And then they did more than that, even. That was just weird. He'd read through those parts wondering if he and Ziva had really dated, and if so, why no one had told him.

_She stood very close to him, dressed in a slinky little gown. "We must put on a show, yes?" she whispered into his ear. Her breath made all the little hairs stand on end._

_He felt a smirk cross his lips in a way that didn't have to be faked. "They_ are _watching," he replied, speaking into her neck. He then planted a kiss where her neck met her shoulder. And then another, and another, up the side of her neck._

"_You are a naughty boy," Ziva said out loud, tilting her head to the side to allow him better access. He felt something like triumph at that small, instinctive move._

"_Mmm...yeah. What are you gonna do about it?" Feeling certain that she wouldn't kill him as they were being watched by two separate groups, he grabbed her waist and spun her around, dropping her gently onto the bed.._

_She let him, he was sure, but it still sent a little thrill through him when he landed on top of her, catching his weight on his hands. He let his knee drift between her thighs. Their eyes met. Ziva gave a little smile._

"_Do you really want to find out?" she asked, raising one eyebrow._

_Tony grinned and pulled his shirt off. "Try me."_

The sudden flashes of images took his breath away. What was that? That was him. And Ziva. Whoa. That was dirtier than anything Tim had written in his book. Why would he and Ziva have been...doing that?

And something was seriously going wrong in his pants. He covered himself with the book. Was this something he was going to have to ask Ducky about? He flushed at the thought.

He got up and darted across the lab while Abby's back was turned. "Gotta go to the bathroom! I'll be right back!" he hollered. He sure hoped this wasn't permanent!

He heard Abby yell something, but missed the content, as he was in a dead sprint for the bathroom. He was grateful that Gibbs had shown him another bathroom, one closer to the lab that he'd missed in his hurry before. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, and the sooner he could hide, the better. This was like a horror story!

* * *

"Abby, where's Tony?" Gibbs couldn't help the note of frustration he heard creep into his voice.

Abby shrugged.

"Abby?" It was more than a hint of frustration in his voice now. "He hasn't dissapeared again, has he?" He loved her, but she could try his patience...

"He went to the bathroom," she said. He could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "Geez, Gibbs, give me a break. I didn't lose him."

Gibbs tweaked one of her ponytails. "As long as you're sure," he said gruffly. He didn't like to admit, even to himself, how nervous he'd felt when Tony had gotten lost before.

"So, you wanna see what I've got?" Abby asked perkily,

"Might as well, since I'm down here," Gibbs said. She began to happily babble in geekspeak; he only recognized one word in five. "Speak English, Abs," he reminded her.

"Right. So the bullet we recovered from the Petty Officer matches perfectly with the Lance Corporal's weapon. We've found the murder weapon, Gibbs!" She grinned at him.

He smiled and kissed her cheek. "Good work, Abby." He turned to head back up to the bullpen.

Tony nearly smacked into him. "Watch where you're going, Tony," he said mildly.

"Sorry, Gibbs," Tony said. His face was a little red. Gibbs studied him more closely.

"You didn't go outside, did you?" he asked. He reached out and put his hand on Tony's forehead.

The skin was normal-temperature. But Tony flushed brighter. "No, I just went to the bathroom," Tony said. He looked down.

He didn't think Tony was lying, exactly, but something was up. "You ok?" he asked.

Tony nodded. "Uh huh. I um...I had to go talk to Ducky," he said.

"You told me you were going to the bathroom!" Abby cried. "Tony!"

"I did!" Tony protested. "But, um...I just had to talk to Ducky, okay?" He looked cornered. His gaze was desperately fixed on Abby's office.

Gibbs held a hand up, warning Abby to keep quiet. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked Tony quietly.

"Yeah." Tony's face was still bright red. "I talked with Ducky. He says I'm fine."

Gibbs gave it up. "Okay. Go play on the computer." He patted Tony's hastily retreating shoulder.

Abby glared at him. He shrugged.

He'd go ask Ducky what was up.

* * *

Tony gave up on Deep Six. After that disturbing and embarrassing problem he'd had earlier, he wanted to avoid anything that made him remember things like that! Ducky had kindly assured him that it was normal and nothing to worry about, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing.

He kicked back on the couch, wishing that Abby had a TV. He was getting hungry again. "Abby?" he called.

"Yeah?" she said, sounding a little distracted.

"You got any snacks?"

Abby sighed. "There's some money in the top drawer of my desk. You can go get something from the vending machine. Remember, the elevator goes up to the bullpen, and the vending machines are—"

"I remember," Tony said. He'd seen them on the way inside, and had immediately noted where they were.

"Okay. Don't get lost, hear me?"

"I won't." He opened her top desk drawer and scooped out a small handful of silver coins. Cheerfully he started over to the elevator.

He hit the button, but nothing seemed to happen. He hit it again. Nothing.

Should he take the stairs? Or would he get lost that way? He'd promised Abby he wouldn't get lost...

He looked over to the stairs, contemplating. How could he possibly get lost on one flight of stairs.

He'd taken two steps towards the stairs when he heard a ding. He turned back to the elevator just in time for Gibbs to collar him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Hungry," Tony replied. He shook the change in his hand.

Gibbs shook his head. "We're going home," he said. "Give Abby her money back and we'll head out." He gave Tony a little push towards the door to Abby's lab.

"How'd you know the money was Abby's?" Tony asked, surprised as he walked back to Abby's office.

Gibbs didn't answer him. Instead, he said, "We're going now, Abs."

"I'll be out of here in a jiffy," Abby replied. "Did you know a jiffy is an actual thing? It's—"

"1/100th of a second. You told me a few weeks back," Gibbs said.

"Oh. Okay. Well, maybe in two jiffys, since I've wasted time talking with you. Not that talking with you is a waste of time. But it is time that I can't spend doing something else, so..."

"Have a good night, Abby," Gibbs replied. His lips didn't smile, but his eyes did, just a little. "C'mon, Tony."

Obediently, Tony started towards the door, but then stopped. "Bye, Abby," he said, suddenly feeling a little shy. He wanted to hug Abby goodbye, but he could still hear his father's voice, telling him that DiNozzos didn't need anyone. It was a little quieter, but it was still there.

Luckily, Abby didn't have that voice in her head. She was across the lab in a second, squeezing him into a gigantic hug. He relaxed.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Tony," she said into his ear. Tony nodded. Reluctantly, he let go.

"C'mon," Gibbs said, putting his hand on Tony's shoulder. "What do you want for dinner?"

Tony shrugged and allowed Gibbs to steer him out of Abby's lab. "Pizza?" he suggested.

Gibbs snorted.

* * *

Gibbs stepped into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. He pulled out a roll of Tums and chewed six. All this pizza Tony had him eating was hard on his digestive system.

He could have insisted on something else, he supposed, but part of him wanted Tony to be happy, and if that meant pizza every meal, well, he'd eaten worse. And the other part of him couldn't help but be curious about how many pizza meals Tony could eat. It appeared to be a lot.

Tony was snoring now, and Gibbs was relieved. It had been a long, nerve-wracking day. He hadn't anticipated so much trouble having Tony at NCIS. Tomorrow, he'd warned the director that he was going to be late, since he had to bring Tony to that adult daycare place. Even thinking the words, his stomach tightened. It made him sick. But Ducky had assured him that it would be better for Tony and for the team if he had something to do all day. So he'd given the place a call, and they'd said they could take him. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. At least for now.

Ducky had also told him why Tony had been so embarrassed. Gibbs couldn't help but be glad he'd missed that particular conversation. Ducky had handled it like he handled everything—with a bit of humor and a lot of common sense. Gibbs didn't think he would have done as well.

This wasn't going to be the end of the awkward and embarrassing. If Tony didn't get better—and according to Ducky, every day that he didn't improve lessened the chance he ever would—this was going to continue forever.

He faced himself in the mirror, suddenly feeling very old. His eyes had bags under them, and his gaze seemed like that of a man much older than himself. Could he really be what this new Tony needed if Tony needed him for a long time? If he never recovered?

He stood up straight and glared at himself, smacking the back of his head. He'd do what he had to, he told himself sternly, and he'd just do it one day at a time.

After all, that was what it meant to be a parent.


	14. Daycare

Tony was up early, but he could hear Gibbs moving around downstairs. He crept down the hall, listening. He was working on something down there, in the basement. Tony could hear the rasp of sandpaper against wood. What did the man do down there?

He stood at the top of the stairs, listening. Nothing changed; the sound was soft and steady. He listened for a long time.

He found himself wishing Gibbs would come upstairs. He kind of liked sitting at the kitchen table with Gibbs, eating cereal while Gibbs drank massive quantities of black coffee. It was quiet, and just kind of nice.

Suddenly, the rasping stopped. He heard Gibbs let out a long sigh, and there was a quiet thump, like he'd dropped something. And then Tony heard him step onto the creaking staircase.

In a flash, he hustled into the kitchen. He knew his fear was irrational, but he still didn't like the idea of Gibbs knowing that he'd stood at the top of the stairs, listening to him do whatever he was doing down there. His dad would hate if he did something like that, and the instinctive fear was hard to completely kick.

Gibbs came into the kitchen and raised his eyebrows. Tony realized he was breathing a little harder than he should have been. But Gibbs didn't say anything except, "You're up."

Tony nodded. He helped himself to a bowl of cereal as Gibbs refilled his ever-present mug of coffee.

They sat at opposite ends of the table. Tony took a bite of cereal before asking, "So, are we going to NCIS again today?" He'd had fun there yesterday, mostly. Except for the whole getting lost thing.

Gibbs took a deep breath. "Ducky told me about a daycare place you might like," he said. His expression was hard to read.

"Daycare?" Tony made a face. "I'm not five."

"No," Gibbs said. "But you can't keep coming to work with me every day. I'm not going to leave you here alone."

"You could," Tony said, but inside, he felt a little relieved that Gibbs wasn't going to leave him all alone here.

Gibbs smiled wryly. "No, I couldn't. I'd like the house to be standing when I come back."

Tony realized he was joking. "Your standards are too high," he said, joking back. Gibbs shook his head.

"It won't be so bad. They'll have stuff for you to do. Ducky thought it was a good idea." Gibbs took another drink of coffee, as if that settled it. And really, it did.

Tony sighed. "You'll come get me after you finish work, right?" he asked. He knew Gibbs would, he supposed, but he still wanted a promise.

Gibbs gave him a look that Tony didn't understand. "Yeah. Of course."

Tony stuck out his hand. After a second, Gibbs reached out too and shook it.

"Okay then. Semper fi, right?"

"Semper fi," Gibbs echoed softly.

* * *

When they pulled up to the building, Tony's misgivings only grew. "It's called Eldercare Senior Center," he read off the sign from the front of the building. He turned to look at Gibbs. "Do I look like a senior to you?"

Gibbs' face was unreadable. He shook his head. "No, Tony, you don't. But it will have to make do, at least for now, okay? Ducky said—"

"What am I going to do all day, cooped up with a bunch of old people?" Now was about when Tony's father would have told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would shut up, smile, and be respectful...or else. But Gibbs just pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was getting a headache.

"C'mon," he said, getting out of the car.

Reluctantly, Tony followed his lead. Gibbs held the door for him as they walked into the building.

Upon entering, Tony was nearly overcome with a strong, sudden urge to hide behind Gibbs. Over at a table, he saw two very old women sitting across from each other. Neither spoke, or even looked up from the surface of the table.

Across the room, two very, very old men were sitting in front of a blaring television, but paying it no mind. Instead, they were arguing vehemently in Italian about a granddaughter and her decision to marry a young man who was an artist. A dark skinned young woman in scrubs hurried over to them, and he heard her beg them in English, "Please, Mr. Ghirlandaio, Mr. Rossi, can't you compromise on the program you watch?"

Gibbs put his arm over Tony's shoulder. "You okay, kid?" he asked in an undertone.

"Gibbs..." Tony wasn't trying to whine, but he heard it come out that way anyway. He winced. "Please?" He didn't voice the rest of the question, knowing Gibbs knew it.

Another young woman, a blonde, also in scrubs came up. "Hello? Can I help you?" Her smile was pleasant, if harried.

"My name is Jethro Gibbs. I called yesterday about Tony DiNozzo?"

She nodded. "I'm Megan; I think you and I talked on the phone. Hello, Tony," she said, putting out her hand.

Tony shook it. "Hi," he said, feeling shy. He fought the urge to hide his face in Gibbs' shoulder like a four year old.

"I know this might seem a little weird at first, Tony, but we hope you like it here," Megan said. "We play Bingo in the afternoon, and there's a TV. Do you like to watch TV?" Her voice was kind.

"Yeah," Tony said. "I like cartoons."

Another bout of shouting in Italian made Tony cringe; one of the old men in the corner was roundly cussing out the young lady who had went over there to intervene. She threw up her hands and headed over towards where they were standing.

"Meg, please!" she said plaintively. "Mr. Rossi won't listen to a word I say!"

Megan gave them an apologetic smile. "Leticia will help get you settled, okay Tony?" she said, heading off toward the cursing Italian man.

The woman named Leticia gave them a tired smile. "Tony?" she said to Gibbs.

"I'm Tony," he corrected. He saw the woman's eyes widen slightly, and then she composed her face again. He wasn't sure, but it seemed like she might be blushing.

"Of course. Well, why don't you say goodbye to your dad here, and we'll find you something to do, okay?"

Now Tony blushed, waiting for Gibbs to deny that he was his dad. But Gibbs didn't say anything except, "You gonna be okay?"

Tony looked Gibbs in the eye. He really, really wanted to beg Gibbs to take him with. Gibbs' hand landed softly on the back of his head and stayed there, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"You can do this, Tony," he said confidently.

Tony nodded. "Okay," he said. His voice sounded very small in his own ears. He felt about five years old, and not very happy about it.

"I'll be back at 5:30," Gibbs said, his eyes darting up to a clock on the wall. They fixed back on Tony's face. "And you know my phone number, right?"

Did he? Tony realized he did, as he recited it automatically. Gibbs smiled.

"Good boy," he said. He squeezed Tony's shoulder. "And Tony, try to have a little fun, would ya? I'm sure there's something good on TV at least."

Tony nodded. Leticia smiled at him.

"He'll be just fine," she said. "We'll see you at 5:30."

Gibbs nodded, and left the room. Tony swallowed hard, feeling stupid for feeling afraid.

"Your dad said you like TV? What do you like to watch?" Leticia asked.

Tony shrugged. "I like the Jetsons," he offered.

"Hmm," she said. "Well, we'll see. Mr. Rossi is not the best about sharing..."

"I don't see why not. He's not even watching it," Tony said, and then covered his mouth with his hand. That had been awfully rude.

"Those two are always watching TV," Leticia contradicted, not seeming to notice his rudeness. "But come along. I'll introduce you."

She led him over to the TV. The men were quiet now, staring at the TV. Occasionally one would turn and glare at the other, but neither spoke.

"Mr. Rossi? Mr. Ghilandaio? This is Tony. Is it alright if he watches TV with you?"

Mr. Rossi turned his head towards Mr. Ghilandaio. "We must be getting old," he commented in Italian. "Look how young this one is."

"I'm eleven, sir," Tony replied in kind. He saw Leticia's eyes get big. The two older men were obviously surprised too.

"Eleven? Boy, they're making 'em big these days," Mr. Ghirlandaio said. "Who's your family, young man?"

"I'm Anthony DiNozzo. Tony," he said.

"DiNozzo," Mr. Ghirlandaio repeated. "That sounds familiar..."

"I'll just let you three talk," Leticia interrupted in English. "If you need anything, just let us know." She beat a hasty retreat.

"It is familiar, you bonehead. It's not an uncommon name," Mr. Rossi said, and there was some exasperated affection in his voice. "Come on, young man. You can sit and talk with us awhile."

"Are you watching this?" Tony asked, gesturing towards the TV. In unison, the men shrugged.

"Not so much," Mr. Rossi replied. "We just like to keep it on to annoy the nurses." He gave a little wink to Tony. He found himself smiling in response.

"Can we watch the Jetsons?"

Mr. Ghirlandaio made a "go ahead" motion with his hands.

* * *

As Gibbs read through McGee's report about their most recent case, he found his attention wandering.

Was Tony doing all right? The ladies at that facility had seemed nice, and Ducky had highly recommended it, but it was meant for, well, old people. He shook his head, remembering how that one young lady had assumed he was the one being dropped off...Tony would have usually had a field day with that remark, but of course...

He sighed and drained the dregs of his coffee. He stood. McGee and Ziva both glanced up at him. He raised his empty cup as an answer before tossing it in the garbage. McGee nodded; Ziva just looked back to her screen.

He headed toward their small excuse for a break room; it was basically a closet with a couple of coffee pots in it. One for him, and one for everyone else. Hey, he liked his coffee strong. Nothing wrong with that.

As he filled his usual mug, which was sitting exactly where he'd left it the day before, he allowed himself to think of Tony again. Should he call and see how he was doing? Of course, what kind of trouble could the kid possibly get in there? The place was supervised.

He shook his head and headed downstairs to see if Abby had found anything yet on their newest case, a dead Petty Officer. Even if she hadn't, at least he wouldn't be sitting in the bullpen, trying to avoid looking at Tony's empty desk.

* * *

Tony was bored. He'd always thought that being allowed to sit around and watch all the TV he'd ever wanted would be fun, but well...after three hours, even the Jetson's marathon lost its appeal. And so did listening in on Mr. Rossi's opinion of his granddaughter's artist boyfriend.

He wandered over to where Leticia sat, reading a textbook. Every once in awhile, she would glance up. He waited patiently until she did again. She startled, her hand going over her heart. "Oh, Tony. I didn't see you there," she said, setting the book on the table next to her. "You need something?"

He looked at the book's cover. _Molecular Biology. _"Is that a hard book to read?" he asked.

"It's a pre-req for my nursing degree," she said. That didn't mean anything to Tony, but he tried to nod intelligently. She smiled. "Yeah, it's hard."

"Oh," he said. He'd hoped maybe she was reading something good. Something better than that _Deep Six _book Tim had written, because, well...the dirty parts made his mind go places he figured it was better to stay out of, especially after Ducky had explained how, exactly, he'd gotten that one problem. He decided to ask anyway. "You guys have any books around here?"

Leticia frowned. "Sorry, Tony. Not much call for them around here. Most of the folks here got eyesight so bad they couldn't read 'em anyway. We might have a Bible; that's about it."

Tony made a face. He wasn't a huge fan of the Bible. Every time his mom dragged him to church, he had to sit there and make up stories in his head while the priest droned on and on in Latin. She'd wanted him to be an alter boy, but he'd refused, and for once, his father had agreed with him. "No boy of mine's gonna be some patsy altar boy," he'd said. It was one of the only times he could ever remember siding with his dad on anything.

"Why don't you have anything interesting to do here?" he asked. "I thought it was supposed to be a daycare." He didn't like that word, but it did make him think of toys and playing and goofing around, not old people sitting in chairs, staring blankly at each other and arguing in Italian.

"Well, it's a daycare for adults," Leticia said.

"Well, Gibbs should have found one for kids, because I'm bored," Tony stated. She looked a little confused.

"How old are you, honey?" she asked.

"Eleven," Tony said. "I know I don't look it, but I think maybe some kind of experiment at Gibbs' work went wrong or something, 'cause I got stuck in this big old body that doesn't even belong to me...he wouldn't really explain the details. Just said I used to work there. I thought it might be kind of like Spiderman, you know? Except, apparently instead of being bitten by a radioactive spider, I got bitten by a radioactive old man, or something. No one ever explained what happened to my old body."

Leticia's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. "I see," she said. She sighed and dug a cell phone out of her pocket and started to hit some buttons before handing it to Tony. "You ever play Tetris?" she asked.

He nodded, taking the phone from her. To his suprise, the little screen had the game on it. His eyes widened. "Whoa," he muttered.

"You can play with that for awhile," she said. He plopped down to the ground, and she stood. "Megan?" she called across the room.

Tony was already absorbed in the little game on her phone.

* * *

Gibbs' cell phone rang while he was in Abby's lab. "Yeah, Gibbs," he answered as always.

"Mr. Gibbs, this is Megan Trombley, over at the Eldercare Senior Center. I'm calling about Tony?" the young woman said. Abby froze to stare at Gibbs, who held up his hand in the universal wait gesture.

"Yeah. How's he doing?" Gibbs asked. His famous gut didn't tell him he needed to worry, although his brain seemed to have a different idea. He commanded himself mentally to pay attention.

"Well, he's doing okay; that is, he's not being disruptive or anything. But Leticia, you remember her, she helped you this morning—"

"Yes," Gibbs interrupted.

"Well, she told me that she's a little worried. Apparently Tony is showing signs of being delusional. Is this normal behavior for him, or should we be worried?"

"Delusional? He thinks he's an eleven-year-old. That's the reason he's there," Gibbs said, not seeing the problem.

"No, we realize that," Megan said. "But, uh, he told Leticia some kind of story about how he got bit by a radioactive old man and switched bodies with him. I was just—"

"Ah, Tony," Gibbs said. He rolled his eyes. He saw Abby relax a little. "Listen, I don't know the answer to that. I'm gonna go talk to his doctor, and I'll get back to you, okay?"

"Certainly. You have the number?"

"Yeah." Gibbs hung up.

"Gibbs!" Abby said. "What's going on with Tony?"

"I've gotta ask Ducky if it's normal for him to be telling people he got bit by a radioactive old man and switched bodies with him," Gibbs asked.

"What? Like in Spiderman?" Abby asked.

"Huh?" Gibbs said, turning to head out. "That a movie?"

"It's a comic, Gibbs," Abby said. "Tony probably read a lot of those, growing up. He still might, actually," she said.

He could see she was about to go off on one of her tangents. "Listen Abs, I'll get back to you later. I'm gonna go see Duck."

"Good luck, Bossman," Abby replied, turning back to her computer.

* * *

"That is a bit concerning, Jethro," Ducky said. "Now, I don't believe he's delusional, at least, not in the way that young lady likely meant, but it would be best for us to clear up his confusion on this issue."

Gibbs sighed. "I'll go get him," he said. "Bring him back here?"

"Do that," Ducky replied, thinking. "I'll check him over again, make sure that story he was telling that young lady isn't a symptom of some deeper problem. I did earn a degree in forensic psychology, you know—"

"Yeah, Duck, I remember," Gibbs said with a wave over his shoulder. "I'll be back with Tony in a few minutes."

"Oh, dear," Ducky said, looking at the petty officer lying on the table. "Mr. Palmer, could you help me with the petty officer? He probably shouldn't be here when Tony gets here."

"Yes sir," the young man said. "But, um, doctor? May I suggest something?"

Ducky nodded. "Go ahead," he allowed.

"That story Tony told? It sounds an awful lot like Spiderman. He could just be telling another one of his movie stories." Mr. Palmer's eyes met his own.

Ducky raised his eyebrows. "A movie story, you say?"

"That would be good, wouldn't it Doctor? I mean, that movie isn't that old. He wouldn't remember it if he was still in 1982."

"That would be good, indeed," Ducky said. "Indeed."

* * *

"Gibbs, you're early!" Tony said, jumping up from his seat on the floor in front of the two Italian men. He bounded over to meet him, looking like an over-eager puppy. Gibbs managed a smile.

"Just checking to see how you're doing," he said, tousling Tony's hair. Tony smiled shyly, ducking his head. He looked over Tony's shoulder; the young blonde woman from earlier was walking over to him.

"Mr. Gibbs?" she said. He remembered her name was Megan.

"Everything going okay?" he asked.

Megan looked over at Tony. Gibbs nodded.

"Tony, you wanna go watch TV for a couple more minutes?" he asked.

Tony's shoulders slumped. Gibbs didn't miss his anxious expression. He squeezed Tony's shoulder.

"Just a few minutes. Then you and I will go back to NCIS, okay?" He gave a gentle push to Tony's back, and watched as he obediently trotted back to sit with the two old men parked in front of the television.

Megan smiled. "I don't want you to think he's been any trouble, Mr. Gibbs, because he truly hasn't. He did make Leticia a little nervous with all his talks about being bitten by a radioactive man and body-switching, however. Do you have any idea where he might have gotten such an idea?"

Gibbs sighed. "Abby thought it might be from a comic book; I don't know, haven't read one in years."

"Abby?"

"A work associate." He didn't see how that was relevant. "I'm going to take him with me."

"Sure," Megan said. "Uh, there's just a form you have to sign, you know, so we can keep track of our clients..."

He signed her form and called, "Tony!" The young man hopped up more nimbly than Gibbs would have thought he was able to, and said something quietly to the men he was leaving behind. He heard a smattering of speech, but was sure it wasn't English. _Italian_, he realized.

"Yeah, Boss?" Tony said, and again, he ran right up to him. Gibbs had a flash of memory, of Tony as a probie, with that same eager look on his face.

"C'mon, kid," he said, turning towards the exit. "Gonna go see Ducky."

"I'm not sick, Gibbs," Tony whined a little, even as he loped along at his side. "Ducky just looked me over yesterday, and he said I was fine."

Gibbs deliberately ignored the whine. "Yeah, well, we'll let Ducky be the judge of that." He nodded at the car. "Get in."

Tony plunked himself into the seat with a huge sigh. "When Ducky says I'm fine, can we get pizza for dinner?"

"You keep eating pizza for dinner, and Ducky's gonna wonder why we're getting so fat," Gibbs said. He caught Tony's pout out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, okay, fine. Pizza." He'd never been good at saying no to Kelly, no better at telling Abby no...and apparently, now Tony made that list too.

He really needed to buy more Rolaids.


	15. Bravery

Warning: It's short. It's sappy. It's cute. It's possibly OOC. You have been warned. I hope you like.

* * *

"He didn't like that center," Ducky said. "He told me it was 'boring'. Poor lad, it must be difficult for him to understand why he can't go to school."

"He say that?" Jethro asked.

"Well, not exactly. But he did ask why we couldn't find him a place to go where there were other kids instead of old people. I suppose for an eleven year old, that would seem almost a form of torture."

"And what about the stories he was telling those women?" Jethro was to the point, as usual. Ducky smiled.

"He says he got the idea from Spiderman," Ducky said, "Just as Mr. Palmer suggested. It's nothing to worry about, Jethro. Physically, he's fine, and his mental status is unchanged. However, I did choose to explain that although you are a Special Agent, NCIS is not a top-secret government testing facility and we do not store radioactive materials here." Ducky gave Jethro a kindly smile. "He also says you're having pizza for dinner tonight again. Really, Jethro, a few vegetables wouldn't harm either one of you."

"Yeah, thanks Duck," Jethro replied. Ducky could see that a lecture on the nutritional benefits of vegetables would go nowhere, so he held his tongue. "Gonna take him home. It's nearly 17:30 anyway."

"I asked Mr. Palmer to escort him over to Abigail's lab, so when you are ready to go, that is where you'll find him," Ducky said. "He promised me not to get lost."

"Tony? Or Palmer?" Gibbs asked in that deadpan way of his. Ducky just shook his head, smiling.

"Have a good night, Jethro. You know how to get ahold of me if that is necessary."

"Thanks Duck. You too."

* * *

Gibbs set the box on the table. He could see Tony salivating from his place on the other side. Funny, how that had become Tony's place, just as easy as that.

Tony reached over and snagged a slice, taking a huge bite before dropping it onto his plate. "Hungry?"  
Gibbs asked mildly, taking a piece for himself.

"I'm always hungry," Tony said. His eyes met Gibbs for a moment. "Sorry. I should have waited, right?"

"No need," Gibbs said. He saw Tony smile before taking another huge bite. A long thread of cheese hung between Tony and the slice in his hand. "Chew. Don't want you to choke. Ducky would have my head."

"He would not," Tony replied around a mouthful of cheese.

"Sure would," Gibbs said. He could see Tony contemplating that. He almost saw the mental shrug. They chewed together in silence for awhile.

Gibbs decided to prompt him. "So, what'd you think about that place?" he asked.

Tony made a face. "It was really boring. I mean, if it's a daycare, shouldn't they do something fun? The only fun thing they did at all was Bingo, and that wasn't even that fun. Who wants to play Bingo for nickels, anyway?"

"Yeah, I don't think Ducky had thought of that," Gibbs allowed.

"Plus, everyone was, well, old, you know? I mean, there wasn't anyone to play with, and all Mr. Rossi and Mr. Ghirlandaio wanted to talk about was the artist boyfriend who's marrying his granddaughter."

"In Italian, right?"

Tony's head jerked up. He looked surprised. "How did you...?"

"Heard you talking to them, and knew it wasn't English. Figured it must be Italian."

"How do you know I speak Italian?"

"You always have," Gibbs said. Tony was staring at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Tony said. He glanced down at his pizza again, very intent on his next bite. Again, they chewed in silence. Both worked their way through two more pieces. Gibbs' stomach let its displeasure be known via a loud, gurgling protest, and he made a note to find those Rolaids he'd bought on the way home.

It was Tony who broke it this time. "Can I ask you a question, Gibbs?" he asked.

"Already did," Gibbs pointed out. He saw Tony flush a little at that. "Go ahead," he allowed with a little smile.

"This morning, when I woke up, I heard you doing something...down in the basement. I know I shouldn't have been listening, but I was just curious, and it was loud enough to hear from the hall and I wasn't trying to invade your privacy or anything but I just—"

"Tony, it's okay," Gibbs said once he saw that the ramble was meant to be a justification. There wasn't anything to justify. "What was your question?"

"Uh...what are you, you know, doing down there?" Tony asked slowly. He looked down at his plate after asking, but didn't touch his pizza.

It made Gibbs angry to see that Tony was afraid he might be angry at him for wondering. What man would get angry at his son for natural curiosity? He hated the senior DiNozzo with a passion for the fear he'd instilled in his child. He didn't allow any of that anger to escape onto his face however. Instead, he pushed it down. There were much more important things he needed to deal with right now than thoughts of Anthony DiNozzo _Sr_. Like Anthony DiNozzo Jr.

"You want to see?" Gibbs asked casually.

Tony's head popped up again, and his eyes were wide and round. It was not excitement displayed on his face. Fear, Gibbs realized. In a flash, it hit him that Tony hadn't ventured down into the basement ever since he'd hit his head; usually he had no problem sitting on the stairs and chatting with Gibbs, but lately...Damnit. He'd missed something. Tony was afraid of the basement?

"It's nothing scary," Gibbs said, gentling his voice. "My workshop is down there. I'm making a boat out of wood. That noise you heard this morning was sanding."

"Sanding? A boat?" Tony seemed to find the concept foreign.

"I'll show you," Gibbs said. He looked at Tony's plate, where only a half-eaten crust was left. "Done?"

Tony's reply was slow. "Uh...yeah," he said finally, chewing a little on his lower lip.

Gibbs stood up and pretended not to notice Tony's eyes widening again. He grabbed his plate in one hand and Tony's in the other, and dumped them both in the sink. "C'mon, then. The dishes'll wait."

* * *

Hesitantly Tony stood and followed Gibbs down the short hallway that led to the basement. Gibbs opened the door. From where he stood, all he saw was black, black darkness, like a gaping mouth waiting to eat him.

"_No, Daddy! I'm sorry!" _

"_Don't call me 'Daddy'!" The grip on his arm so tight it hurt. All he could hear was the roar of blood in his ears._

"_No!" _

_And he was falling, falling..._

It was the light that broke him out of it. He shuddered. Gibbs had switched on the light, but he could remember the darkness, and being so afraid. His eyes were riveted on Gibbs' hands.

Gibbs was looking at him. Tony didn't look back, but he could feel his eyes traveling over him, even as he avoided them.

Then, slowly, one of those hands moved. "C'mon, Tony," Gibbs said softly. "Come see. It's safe down here, I promise. You always liked to hang out with me down here before." He put his hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony stayed still, just breathing, and felt the weight of Gibbs' hand, settled there. Not trying to drag him, not trying to hurt him. Just there. To comfort him, he realized. Gibbs was trying to make him feel safe.

Tony nodded. "Okay," he said, and his voice was small in his own ears. "But you go first." He wanted, really really wanted, to trust Gibbs...he did trust Gibbs...but that didn't mean he had to be stupid. If he was between Gibbs and the door, then...well, he would be safer. He hated himself for being afraid again, when Gibbs had been nothing but honest. Semper fi; always faithful. He'd proven it before. Tony wanted him to prove it again.

Gibbs nodded, and turned back to the stairway. His footsteps were not heavy as he moved down the stairs.

Tony followed. His eyes lit on the boat, and he stopped in his tracks.

_He was sitting on the stairs, drinking from a bottle. "You know, Boss, I have a question."_

"_What's that?" Gibbs answered, not looking up from where he was sanding._

"_How do you get it out?"_

_Gibbs had a wry smile on his face. "How do you get a ship out of a bottle, DiNozzo?" he asked._

_Tony felt his eyebrows raise, questioning. Gibbs chuckled._

"_Break the bottle, of course."_

"Break the bottle," Tony said aloud. Gibbs had made it off the staircase and he spun around so fast Tony jumped. Gibbs put his hands out non-threateningly, a gesture of surrender.

"Didn't mean to scare ya," he said. "Where'd you hear that?"

He didn't sound angry. Tony looked at him. He looked...was he hoping for something?

Tony swallowed. "I...I think I heard it here," he said. "You were sanding the boat. I asked you how you get it out of the basement. And you said—"

"Break the bottle," Gibbs chimed in softly with him. He was smiling now. "That's real good, Tony. You remember anything else?"

Tony shrugged and sat down on the step he remembered perching on before. "I remember...this isn't the same boat I saw before, is it?" he asked. Gibbs shook his head; no, it wasn't. "I didn't think so. The wood was a little darker. Nothing else, yet," he said. "But, uh...it's not as scary down here as I thought it was gonna be."

"Good to hear," Gibbs said. He walked over to where the boat was stationed on sawhorses, and picked up a block wrapped in sandpaper. "You want to help me sand?" he asked, gesturing with the block.

Tony shrugged. He'd better not, he thought. He'd just ruin it anyway. "That's okay," he said. "I'll just sit here, I think."

"Okay then," Gibbs replied. He started to work.

Tony listened to the even sound of the sandpaper wearing away the rough parts on the boat, and leaned against the wall. Nothing to be scared of, down here. Not in _this_ basement.

* * *

Gibbs looked over where Tony sat on the stairs; he'd been awfully quiet. The reason for that became apparent; Tony's eyes were shut and he was leaning against the wall, his mouth open. He'd fallen asleep, sitting right there on the staircase.

Not that it was the first time he'd ever done it, although usually he was intoxicated if he did.

He knew he should move him, get him up and into bed. For one thing, he was going to be sore tomorrow if he spent the night sitting on concrete. Anyway, it was nearing 01:30, which was plenty late for Gibbs himself to get ready for bed.

With a sigh, Gibbs put the sanding block on his workbench and circled his shoulders a few times until they cracked. He walked over towards where Tony snored lightly on the stairs.

"Tony," he said softly. There was no movement. Carefully, he put his hand on Tony's shoulder. "Tony. C'mon, son, wake up." He didn't really want to wake him, but Tony wouldn't thank him if tomorrow he woke up with a sore tail bone from sitting on concrete all night. He'd probably be a bit sore already.

Tony roused sleepily. "Hm?" he murmured.

"You don't want to sleep there. C'mon. Let's get you into bed." He lightly tapped the side of his face as the young man threatened to drop right back into sleep. "Tony..."

"I'm awake," Tony mumbled. His eyes finally opened.

"Good boy," Gibbs said. "Stand up."

He took Tony's hand and pulled him to his feet. Tony allowed it; didn't even seem nervous about it anymore. Well, he couldn't have been too nervous down here with him if he'd fallen asleep on the staircase, Gibbs supposed. And that was a good thing.

"Up the stairs now. Go on." He gave a little push to the small of Tony's back, and the two of them made their way up the stairs. Gibbs flicked off the lights and shut the basement door behind them.

Tony was at least moving on his own power now. He disappeared into the bathroom.

Gibbs went into Tony's room and turned down the blankets automatically and smoothed down the wrinkles in the blanket. Tony made the bed every morning, much to Gibbs' surprise, although sometimes he did a better job of it than others. Not that Gibbs cared; it was his bed after all, and this wasn't the Corps. He reached over to the bedside table and turned on the lamp that sat there.

Tony came in, looking more awake than he had in the hallway. He un-self-consciously shucked off his jeans and threw them in a growing pile of laundry in the corner before yanking on his NCIS sweatpants. "Gibbs?" he asked.

"Yeah," Gibbs said as Tony crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to his chest.

"That's pretty cool, that boat you're making. I'm glad you showed it to me." His voice was shy, but his eyes met Gibbs' own, and they were sincere.

"Maybe tomorrow you'll want to help me out with it," Gibbs replied.

"I wouldn't want to ruin it," Tony said, looking at his hands. "I ruin things a lot."

"You do not, and you wouldn't," Gibbs said. "I'll show you what to do." He turned towards the door.

"Gibbs?" Tony asked again.

"Yeah," Gibbs said, flicking off the lights. The expression on Tony's face drew Gibbs to his bedside, and he sat on the edge of the mattress. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Tony said. He seemed to be contemplating something. His brow was furrowed.

"What's going on in there?" Gibbs asked, tapping the side of his head. Tony smiled.

"Nothing," he said. "Thanks for being so nice to me." His eyes were innocent.

It made Gibbs' gut clench, that thank you. Children were supposed to be treated well, and hell, he didn't think he was treating Tony so great, all things considered. He just was treating him decently, like any decent person would treat a kid, a person in Tony's condition. The elder DiNozzo had a lot to answer for, in his book.

"You're welcome," he said instead. Automatically he smoothed the blanket over Tony's chest.

Tony yawned and snuggled back into the pillows. "You know, I was kind of scared of your basement," he admitted quietly, his eyes meeting Gibbs.

Gibbs nodded. "I know," he said.

Tony still watched him intensely.

"It's okay to be scared of stuff, you know," Gibbs continued. "It happens to everyone."

Tony raised his brows incredulously. "Even you?" he asked.

Gibbs snorted, thinking about how often his team made his heart skip a beat, especially Tony. "Yeah, even me."

"But you're a Marine. I thought Marines weren't scared of anything," Tony said.

"When you got hurt, I was scared we were gonna lose you," Gibbs admitted. "No, Tony, I get scared too. The difference between being brave and being a coward isn't whether or not you're afraid; everyone gets afraid. But a coward gives in to fear, and a brave person takes a deep breath and faces it." He patted Tony's shoulder where it stuck out from under the blanket. "You're brave, Tony. I saw that tonight."

He could tell that his words were like water to Tony's drought-plagued mind, and so he kept talking, as unnatural as it felt to be the one saying things out loud; usually that was Tony's job. He found, however, that he didn't mind it, as long as there was something important to be said.

Tony yawned and shut his eyes. "You're a good guy, Gibbs. I wish you were my dad."

Gibbs swore he felt his heart break at that innocent statement. He swallowed to get the lump out of his throat.

"You're a good son, Tony," he replied. If Tony could face his fears, Gibbs could face his own, too. He leaned over and kissed Tony's forehead. "Love you, kid," he whispered.

He heard a soft, even breath. Tony had already drifted off. He turned towards the door.

"Gibbs?" Tony mumbled.

"Yeah," Gibbs said, turning back. He'd heard. Gibbs waited, watching.

Tony's eyes were still shut and he looked peaceful, the lines of tension on his face fading to nothing and making him look very young. It was quiet, but Gibbs caught his reply.

"Love you too."


	16. Misunderstanding

The call came in at 04:34. He grabbed the phone from where it was charging at the side of his bed and barked, "Yeah, Gibbs," into it as he fought his way out of sleep.

"Jethro, we have a situation out at Quantico," Ducky said matter-of-factly. "A pair of young petty officers in uniform, both deceased. I think you should come down here with your team."

Gibbs was already out of bed and pulling on clothing. "On it, Duck," he said, and hung up the phone only to redial automatically.

The phone went straight to voicemail. "You've reached Anthony DiNozzo. I'm not here right now. Leave me a message."

Gibbs hit the end call button and shook his head. He'd dialed Tony first. Except Tony was currently in his bedroom down the hallway, an eleven year old, and fast asleep. "Wake up," he ordered himself, and quickly dialed Ziva.

"Hello?" He could hear the sleep in her voice.

"We have a case. Quantico, front gates. Ducky's there already." He hung up and dialed McGee to give him the same message. And then, he thought about Tony.

It was 04:38. Tony wouldn't be awake for hours. Could he leave him here by himself for a little while?

How much trouble could he get into if he was sleeping? In the kitchen, he switched on the coffee pot and grabbed a little scrap of paper from the trash can. He scrawled, _Be back by 10:00. Call me if you need me. -Gibbs. _He'd be surprised if Tony even saw the note; he was a notoriously late sleeper. After a moment's thought, he also scrawled his cell phone number on the note—he didn't want Tony to panic if he couldn't remember his number for some reason.

He went down to the end of the hall and peeked in on him. He was fast asleep, arms and legs akimbo, his head buried in his pillows. Quietly, Gibbs put the note on his bedside table by the lamp. Tony snored on, oblivious.

He went back to the kitchen, poured the coffee into his mug, and headed out the door. The kid would be fine for a few hours. Anyway, it wasn't like he could take him to a crime scene, and where else could he possibly drop him off this early in the morning?

It would be fine.

* * *

Tony was comfortably asleep, snuggled deep under the blankets, and he really, really wanted to remain that way. Only his bladder felt like it was going to burst pretty soon, and shifting around no longer was enough to push that feeling aside. The clock at his bedside read 5:04. With a sigh, he pushed the blankets back and made his way to the bathroom.

It was starting to get light outside, he noticed out the window as he emptied his bladder. Would Gibbs be waking him soon? He got up earlier than anyone else Tony had ever met! In case he was, Tony decided to get a little more sleep while he could. He was still tired.

He headed back to his bedroom and dove face first back into bed. After a moment, he reached over and turned off the lamp at his bedside; it wasn't necessary. Pale light was streaming through the windows.

He didn't notice that the breeze his hand created had sent a small piece of paper floating off the side of the table to land under the bed.

Ducky worked with Mr. Palmer to get both deceased men into body bags. They had been identified by their commanding officers, but the reasons their wrists had been zip-tied to the fence remained a mystery. One thing was certain; they hadn't been dead for very long. The liver probe approximated the time of death as less than two hours prior to their discovery.

Jethro walked up to him. "Any sign of cause yet, Duck?" he asked.

"Jethro, while in my younger years, I might have made assumptions about the cause of death, now that I am older and wiser, I prefer to do a thorough investigation before making such a statement," he said. He switched the subject to one he'd been worrying since shortly after he'd called Jethro in the wee hours. "Where is young Anthony this morning? Surely the daycare center wasn't open yet?"

Jethro shook his head. "He's still sleeping at home," he said. "Left him a note; said I'd be back by 10:00."

"My, my, you've given yourself a rather short leash," Ducky said, looking at his watch. "It's nearing 7, my friend. Do you really believe you can process this crime scene in so short a time period?"

"I can always leave and come back," Gibbs said with a shrug.

"Well, all right then. Mr. Palmer?" Ducky raised his voice to be heard by the young man. "Would you ready the van to return to NCIS?"

"Yes, Doctor," Mr. Palmer replied. He made a scramble for the front seat.

"I really must advise you not to bring him to NCIS today, with such a grisly case on our hands," Ducky said. "I don't think it would be beneficial for the lad."

Jethro gave him a wave over his shoulder as he turned back to the crime scene. Ducky sighed, and made his way over to the van.

"Let us not get lost this time, shall we, Mr. Palmer?" he queried as he climbed into the van.

"Of course not, sir."

* * *

Tony stirred again only when the rumbling of his stomach couldn't be ignored any longer. A glance at the clock told him it was 7:46. Time, he decided, for breakfast.

Still in pajamas, he made his way to the kitchen. The house seemed unusually quiet; he didn't hear any boat-making noises from the basement.

He made himself a bowl of cereal and sat at the kitchen table, crunching at it contentedly.

It was really quiet. He'd never heard Gibbs' house quite this quiet before. Gibbs wasn't loud, not by any stretch of the imagination, but Tony could always hear his presence somewhere. Where was he?

There was no way Gibbs was still sleeping, was there? He made his way down the hallway and cautiously opened Gibbs' door. The bed was empty and neatly made. No, not sleeping.

The bathroom door was open, and the man wasn't going to be hiding in a closet, so Tony didn't bother with any of the other doors in the hallway. He made his way back down to the kitchen and took another look there before steeling himself to check the basement.

He put his ear to the door first, but all he heard was silence, so carefully, he opened the door. He flicked on the lights quickly, before the darkness could freak him out, and walked quietly down the stairs.

No one was there. The only thing occupying the basement was Gibbs' boat. Tony frowned.

Where was he? And why had he left him here alone, without saying anything?

He sat on the steps and wrapped his arms around his knees. This wasn't good.

* * *

Gibbs looked over the sketches McGee had produced. There was something wrong. "What's this?" he asked McGee, pointing.

"His hands were secured—"

"They were that far from the ground?" he interrupted.

"Yes, Boss," McGee said, nodding.

"And the direction the fingers are pointed...the men were still alive and standing on their own feet when they were tied to that fence," Gibbs said. "That's—"

"Unusual," Ziva said. "Why would they have no apparent defensive wounds if they were tied there alive? There is no sign of a struggle."

Gibbs shook his head. They were missing something big here. And someone knew what it was. He gave the sketches back to McGee. "I want another round of interviews. Someone knows what's going on here."

Ziva and McGee turned away, and Gibbs dug his phone from his pocket. "Yeah, Duck," he said. "I'm coming in. We're missing something out here."

* * *

Tony's mind had gone into overdrive.

Where was Gibbs? The bed was made; he wouldn't have made the bed if he'd been forced to leave. And anyway, that was dumb. Ducky had told him that NCIS wasn't that kind of government agency...

Well, it was early. Maybe Gibbs had gone out to get something? Except he'd once told Tony he wasn't going to leave him alone in the house because he wanted the house to be standing when he came back. Of course, he'd been kidding, Tony knew that. And he also knew that Gibbs woke up really early. So maybe that was it. And he'd be back any minute.

But what if he wasn't? What if he'd just left Tony here and wasn't gonna come back for him? That was dumb, Tony reprimanded himself. It was Gibbs' house; the man was coming back. No one just abandoned their own house.

Maybe this was supposed to be a hint? Maybe Gibbs wanted Tony to leave? Wouldn't he have said something? From last night, an echo crossed his memory.

_He was drowsing, falling into sleep, when he heard Gibbs' whisper. "You're a good son, Tony." And then he felt Gibbs shadow as the man leaned over him, and like a whisper, settled a kiss to his forehead. Something no one had done to him in years. It was nice. "Love you, kid," he whispered._

He blushed a little. No one had said that to him in years either. Not nicely, like that. Not without manipulating him, like his mother did. But Gibbs hadn't been trying to manipulate him. He'd just been really nice, for no reason at all. Tony smiled, remembering.

So where was Gibbs, then? It wasn't like him to just go off without saying anything to him. Tony searched his memory, looking for any memory, however slight, of Gibbs telling him he was going.

"_Mexico." It was his own voice. "You're going to Mexico."_

_And Gibbs' face, serious. A nod._

No way. He'd just go off to Mexico? And leave Tony in his house? That couldn't, just couldn't, be right. He'd promised he wouldn't leave him. _"No one gets left behind." _He could remember Gibbs saying that, although he wasn't quite sure when.

His heart was pounding now, scared. He stood up and turned to go back up the stairs. He'd call Ducky; he'd know what was going on. Gibbs wouldn't just go off and leave him and not tell Ducky what was going on. Would he?

Tony fought back the tears as he made his way to the kitchen.

* * *

"Hello?" Dr. Mallard pulled his phone from his pocket.

"...?" He didn't understand a single word, but he did know the voice.

"Anthony, dear boy, slow down. Are you all right?"

"Kind of," Tony said, and his words were still fast, but at least Ducky could pick them out now. "But Gibbs is gone! He's not here! He said he was going to Mexico! Did he leave me here alone?"

Oh, dear. "Anthony, calm down. Gibbs is with me," he said, shooting a look over to Gibbs, who stood almost at attention, waiting impatiently for Ducky to hand over the phone. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Tony replied. And then, Ducky heard him make a small, strangled noise; he was trying not to cry.

"Oh, my dear boy, I'm sorry you were frightened," Ducky murmured soothingly. He held Jethro off at a slight distance with his hand, as the man looked about ready to rip the phone from his grip. "Here, talk to Jethro. I'm sure he didn't mean to frighten you." He handed the phone to his friend, who pressed it against his ear.

"Tony? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Jethro's voice was gruff. Worry, Ducky knew, but he didn't know if Tony would.

"Jethro, watch your tone," Ducky suggested quietly. Jethro gave him a curt nod. His voice softened.

"I'm not, Tony. I wouldn't just up and—no, I wouldn't. I'm right here, with Ducky at NCIS. Listen, I'm on my way back home. Wait for me, okay?" Jethro said. "Talk with Ducky. Good boy." He handed the phone briskly back to Ducky and took off out the doors of autopsy at a run.

Ducky shook his head. "Anthony?" he asked.

"Uh huh," Tony replied. He sounded weepy and exhausted.

"Jethro is leaving as we speak, and knowing the way he drives, he'll be there in a matter of minutes, so don't you worry," Ducky soothed. "What happened?"

"He was gone, and I, I...I was trying to remember if he'd told me where he was going, and then I remembered he was going to Mexico, and...I thought he left me." Tony's voice was small and choked up. Ducky ached for the poor boy. If he were here, Ducky would make him a cup of tea and give him a hug.

"He is not going to Mexico, my dear boy, you have my word. That is an older memory, from more than a couple of years back," Ducky said. That was poor timing for that particular memory to surface. "He had a case he had to investigate very early this morning, and you were asleep, so he left you a note. He didn't think you would awaken quite so early."

"I didn't see a note anywhere," Tony said, but he sounded like he was catching his breath.

"I know he left one, lad. It must have gotten lost in the shuffle." Ducky sat at his desk chair. "How long were you worrying about this?"

He practically heard Tony shrug. "I dunno," the boy mumbled. He sounded congested.

"Blow your nose," Ducky instructed. He waited, listening to Tony honking in the background. There was a clattering noise as he picked up the phone again. "Does your chest hurt? Are you having difficulty breathing?"

"Uh uh," Tony denied. "I'm fine." He sniffled again.

He wished he could listen to the lad's breathing, but for now, that would have to do. And if he'd been crying, well, that could cause congestion as severe as any cold. "Good to hear," Ducky said.

"Ducky?" His voice was still the voice of a small, frightened boy.

"Yes, I'm right here," Ducky replied.

"Can..." Tony didn't finish.

"Go on," Ducky said.

"Can you stay on the phone with me 'til Gibbs gets here?" The question was hardly more than a whisper.

"Of course, lad. I'm right here," Ducky said. "And Jethro should be there any minute. I'm sure he's breaking land speed records at this very moment. Why, no one I know has a lead foot quite like him; even Ziva doesn't drive so quickly."

He could hear Tony breathing. "That's it, take some deep breaths and try to calm down," he coached. "Good boy."

* * *

Gibbs burst through the unlocked door. "Tony?" he called.

"Gibbs is here now," he heard Tony say from the kitchen. He raced inside. Tony was curled up, his back against the wall and knees pressed against his chest. His chin rested on his knees, but popped up when he saw Gibbs.

And then, the floodgates opened. "You left me!" he accused, dropping the phone on the floor. "You said you wouldn't, but you left me here and I didn't even know if you were coming back!" Tony rubbed his arm across his face, trying to hide the tears.

"Tony," Gibbs said, holding out his hands. This was unexpected; Tony sounded about five years old. The kid jumped to his feet, kicking the phone in his haste to stand.

"How was I supposed to know you were coming back?" Tony was hysterical. "You didn't even tell me, you...you could be in Mexico! How would I even know? You said you wouldn't leave me! No one gets left behind!" One of the tears slipped down his cheek.

Those words hit Gibbs hard. There was more history here than just a missed note. There was stuff from Tony's childhood, stuff from the many years they'd worked together. He thought of when Tony had been agent afloat, waiting for Gibbs to get him back home. Of Tony's stories of being left behind at the Hilton as a child. Had that happened before he was eleven? He couldn't remember. "No, Tony. No one gets left behind. Ever." His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Tony was standing with his back to the wall, looking like a cornered animal. "I wouldn't leave you, son. I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you'd see my note."

"Well, I didn't! You...you promised!" His voice broke. Gibbs stepped closer, wanting to soothe, but Tony tried to step back. The wall prevented it. "Leave me alone!"

He ran then, darting past Gibbs. Gibbs didn't try to stop him; he stepped aside, not sure what to do. After a long moment, he picked up the phone from where it had fallen. "Duck?" he said.

"Sounds like you've got something you need to deal with, Jethro," Ducky said, his voice firm. "Go talk to the boy. He needs you. And if you were ever to break your iron-clad rule about apologies, my friend, this would be the time to do it."

"Yeah," Gibbs said with a sigh. He hung up the phone.

He could hear Tony crying, and he made his way quietly down the hallway, pausing at the door and knocking. "Tony? Can I come in?"

Tony didn't speak; Gibbs heard him desperately trying to muffle his tears. He poked his head inside.

Tony was curled up on his bed, his back to the door. His face was buried in his pillows. Gibbs could see his shoulders shaking.

"Tony," he repeated softly. Tony went stiff. Man, he had really screwed up this time, Gibbs thought. Cautiously, he sat on the edge of the mattress. "Tony?" He touched Tony's shoulder.

Tony jerked. "So what are you going to do?" he asked. His voice was trying to be hard and angry, but it missed. He sounded nervous, resigned. Gibbs could see the tension in his back, all that he could see of him.

"Do?" Gibbs echoed. He didn't say anything, leaving his hand on Tony's shoulder. It was a good question; what _was_ he going to do? Tony seemed to think Gibbs would punish him for this, and Gibbs was no idiot; he could guess the kind of punishment Tony was expecting. He wasn't going to do that. But there was a problem here, and he had to figure out how to fix it. "I don't know, Tony," he answered finally. "C'mon. Sit up." He wanted to see his face.

Tony didn't move an inch. Gibbs held back a sigh.

"C'mon, Tony. Look at me," Gibbs said.

He wasn't used to Tony, either one, ignoring a direct order. But Tony didn't move. He could feel little tremors run through Tony's muscles under his hand.

What was he supposed to do? He discarded the idea of moving Tony with any kind of force; that could turn into a brawl of some kind, and neither of them needed that. The problem, Gibbs mused, was that he didn't know what to anticipate from the young man.

With a sigh, he decided that like for like might be the way to go here. Tony had surprised him; he needed to surprise Tony. So he did something Tony, neither the grown up nor the child version, would expect. He moved his hand from Tony's shoulder to his back, and started to rub. He'd rubbed Kelly's back when he was back home on furlough and she would beg, "Daddy, please stay with me a little longer. Just 'til I fall asleep?" with her eyes wide and pleading. He would protest, but it was a token and both he and Kelly knew it, and then he'd tell her to flip over. She would hug him, and teasingly, he'd ask her if she'd changed her mind. So she would flip onto her stomach, and he'd rub, long after she'd fallen asleep, glad to see her sleeping and safe.

He only hoped it would work in the same way for Tony, to make him feel safe.

* * *

When Gibbs' hand slid from his shoulder to his back, Tony froze. What was Gibbs doing? He'd expected pain; his father would have exploded if Tony had pulled a stunt like that, yelling at him, accusing him, ignoring him. But no, that big, calloused hand was rubbing his back, moving gently and slowly.

It took him a minute to accept it, afraid it was some kind of trick. But Gibbs had promised he wouldn't hurt him, and his actions said the same thing, so Tony relaxed. Actually, it felt good. He couldn't remember having his back rubbed for a long time. He knew his mom had done it when he was really little, but that had stopped more or less once she'd started to drink so much.

"Tony," Gibbs said again, after a long, long silence. Tony sighed.

"Gibbs?" he answered quietly. He'd gone from fear, to anger, to fear again, and now he was closing in fast on regret. Screaming at Gibbs like that? That was a terrible thing to do. Gibbs had been so nice to him through all of this, and Tony just freaked out, for no reason? It wasn't like he'd never been left alone before. He wasn't a baby that needed to be watched all the time. "I'm really sorry."

Gibbs just kept rubbing his back. "You were scared," he said simply, and Tony realized that Gibbs was right. He flushed. Why would he be scared of being alone? It was stupid. Babyish. And if he'd just thought for a moment instead of freaking out, he would have known that.

"I shouldn't have been," Tony said. Shame washed over him.

"It happens," Gibbs replied. "But you can trust me, Tony."

"I know," Tony whispered. "I...I don't know why I freaked out like that." He wanted to hide his face in his pillows again.

"You've been left behind before," Gibbs stated quietly. His hand was still softly rubbing his back. "But none of my people get left behind Tony, and you're one of mine. You get that?"

Tony nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed.

"Good." Gibbs' hand went to his shoulder, and Tony didn't resist as Gibbs turned him flat on his back. Gibbs reached out his hand. "C'mon, sit up."

Tony sat, avoiding Gibbs' eyes. Gibbs made a noise, and bent forward. He sat back up with a piece of paper in his hand.

The note, Tony realized. He flushed again. "I'm sorry," he repeated, not sure what else to say.

"Stop apologizing," Gibbs said in that gruff way of his. "You missed seeing the note; it's not a crime. I should have stuck it somewhere it wouldn't get lost." He turned his face towards Tony. "Are you hungry? It's getting close to lunchtime."

Tony raised his eyebrows, his eyes darting to the clock. "It's ten-thirty, Gibbs," he pointed out.

Gibbs shrugged. "It'll take awhile for the pizza to get here," he said. "You want the usual?"

Tony recognized the pizza for the peace offering it was. He smiled.

"Yes, please," he said.


	17. Camping

"C'mon, Tony," Gibbs said, and he had a little grin on his face. "Car."

"Where are we going?" Tony asked as he sat on the floor to pull on his tennis shoes. It wasn't going to be Gibbs' work, he didn't think. For one thing, it was Friday afternoon, and for another, the man was dressed in jeans and a long sleeve tee shirt, a pair of boots on his feet.. Gibbs reached into the hall closet and dropped a second pair of boots on the floor next to where he sat.

"Wear those," he said. Tony looked up at the man, wondering where they would be going where they would need boots. But he pulled them on obligingly, lacing them up.

"Do I need anything else?" he asked. Gibbs gave his head a little shake.

"In the car already. C'mon."

He followed Gibbs out the door and to the car. Through the window, he saw a cooler in the back seat, along with a pair of large duffel bags. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"You'll see." He marched around to the driver's side; Tony made himself comfortable in the passenger seat.

His stomach fluttered. His parents had never gone on a trip with a cooler...they took planes everywhere. Where were they going? Was this a good thing? Gibbs had a little smile on his face, but that didn't necessarily mean that it was going to be something good. His dad would sometimes smile and then...but no, Gibbs didn't smile like that. If he smiled, he smiled for real. But what was going on? Why were they leaving Gibbs' house? He felt himself start to panic as something occurred to him. Kids lived with their parents, and no matter how nice Gibbs was to him, he wasn't his dad. What if Gibbs was taking him home? He might have to send him back to his parents. But his dad...his dad had hung up on him. He'd started calling him 'bastard' and 'ungrateful,' things that were never a good sign. If Gibbs brought him home...he had the sick feeling in his stomach that he always got when he knew his father was going to punish him, usually by means of his belt. He had to know.

"Gibbs? Are you...are you gonna take me back to my parents?" He was proud that he didn't let his voice shake. Gibbs head turned sharply towards him; another driver laid on his horn, letting it blare. Gibbs made a rude gesture out the window.

"What? Why would I do that?" Gibbs asked. Tony looked away, wide eyed as the man drove through the traffic without seeming to look at the road.

"Uh...well, it's kind of a rule, isn't it?" Tony ventured. "I mean...I'm better now, and I thought maybe I would have to go home. Because..." He trailed off.

"Tony...you are home," Gibbs said. Tony felt a warmth that started in his chest and infused his face. He was home? He was home. He liked that. But he had to be sure.

"But...they're my parents." He decided not to look out the window anymore and instead stared at his hands, clenched in his lap. "Don't I have to go back to them?"

"Is that what you want?" Gibbs voice was carefully controlled. Tony glanced up and was relieved that all of his attention appeared to be on the road.

"No!" Tony said, too loudly. He swallowed. "Uh, I mean...not really. I...I like it here, with you and Ducky and Jimmy and Abby and Tim and Ziva." He swallowed again. "A...lot."

Gibbs spared him a glance and a little smile. "Good," he said.

The sick feeling in his stomach began to dissipate. "So then...where are we going?" he asked, feeling bolder now that he knew where he WASN'T going.

"It's a surprise," Gibbs said.

**

* * *

**He slung the tent bag over one shoulder and his duffel over the other. "Grab the cooler too," he said to Tony, who had followed his lead with his own duffel bag. Tony did, his face more open than Gibbs had ever seen it. Confusion, but also excitement and anticipation was written all over his countenance.

"Where are we going, Boss?" he asked. Gibbs jerked his head towards a small trail that veered into woods.

"You'll see," he said.

It was a bit of a hike. Usually, if a case took them deep in the woods, Tony would complain. Loudly, creatively, and endlessly, or at least until Gibbs gave him a good smack upside the head. But Tony wasn't complaining this time; every time Gibbs looked back to check on him, Tony's face showed excitement.

They finally stopped when they reached a flat piece of high ground. It had been used for a campsite before; a small circle of stones marked off an old campfire. Gibbs dropped the bags to the ground and stretched, feeling and hearing his bones pop. Tony followed his lead.

"You ever set up a tent before?" Gibbs asked.

Tony shook his head. "I wanted to go camping though. Once, my class had an overnight camping trip, and we were all going to go. My dad said that it was a stupid idea, and that DiNozzos don't tromp around in the forest like wild savages." He flushed and looked down. "I had to stay home with the staff."

Gibbs was again amazed at the casual cruelty of Tony's father. What harm would it have done to let him go? It wasn't like the senior DiNozzo would have had to go and supervise.

"Well, c'mere then," Gibbs said gruffly. "I'll show you how it's done."

It didn't take long for the two of them to set up the tent. "Your bag's in the duffel," he said, opening his own and pulling out a compact sleeping bag. He unrolled it in the tent. Again, Tony copied his actions.

"You forgot a pillow," Tony said. Gibbs shook his head, letting the corners of his lips quirk up.

"Sweatshirt," he said. "You don't bring a pillow on a camping trip. Just more stuff to haul around."

Tony huffed. "Ms. Daniels' list said to pack a pillow."

"Do I look like Ms. Daniels to you?" Gibbs asked rhetorically.

"No. But—"

"No pillows, kid. And I'm not driving back for them."

Tony sighed a little. "Well, I guess I'll survive." There was a melodramatic twist to his words that was 100% DiNozzo.

Gibbs chuckled. "I'm sure you will."

He squatted on his heels, poking at the potatoes wrapped in tin foil as they crisped in the fire. "Do you think they're done yet?" he asked again. The sun was starting to go down, and he squinted to keep the rays from blinding him.

"Not yet," Gibbs repeated. Tony sat back with a sigh. "You act like you're starving," Gibbs said.

"I _am_ starving," Tony replied. "Look!" He pulled up his tee shirt and sucked in his stomach as hard as he could so his ribs protruded.

WHACK! Tony grunted as the can of beans Gibbs lobbed at him hit their target.

"Here, starving," Gibbs said. "Open those and get them going, would ya?"

Tony looked at the can, then at Gibbs. "How am I supposed to get them open?" he asked. "I don't see a can opener."

"Catch," Gibbs replied, and something else came hurtling through the air. Tony put his hand up and caught the object easily. It was a large, folded pocketknife."Just poke a hole in the top and stick the whole can in the fire." Tony pried it open, and with an animal grunt, poked a big hole in the top of the can. He placed it in the fire.

WHOOSH! He watched, unbelieving, as the whole can was engulfed in flames. Like radar, Gibbs turned his head just in time to see it go up. Tony winced, realizing that it might have been a good idea to take the paper off the can before putting it in the fire.

He saw Gibbs shrug. "Kindling," he said. Despite himself, Tony cracked a grin, and was surprised when Gibbs offered one back.

"Go find a pair of sticks," Gibbs said. "We'll roast hot dogs. And watch out for poison ivy."

"Right," Tony said. He had no idea what poison ivy looked like, but he'd just stay away from any kind of dangerous looking plant. How common could a poisonous plant be, after all?

**

* * *

**It was dusk by the time Tony returned to the clearing, a pair of sticks exactly the right size for roasting hot dogs in his hand. He'd stripped them of any leaves or branches already, so Gibbs handed him the package of hot dogs, stealing one for himself as Tony took them.

They sat in companionable silence on a log, turning the hot dogs on the sticks and eating beans and potatoes from a pair of tin drinking cups. Gibbs noticed Tony's careful watch; every time he turned the stick, Tony would do so a second after. Gibbs hid a smile. He knew his former senior agent—_he'll be my senior agent again some day_, he corrected himself—looked up to him. But the adult Tony would never let it be so obvious. It was almost cute.

_Cute? _Abby would have a heyday. He shook his head and returned his attention to the hot dogs.

"This was a good surprise," Tony mumbled, his mouth full.

Gibbs spun his hot dog around again. "Thought it would be fun to get away for the weekend."

"Don't you have any cases?" Tony asked, turning his hot dog also.

"Nothing that can't wait for Monday," he said. They'd closed the Quantico case earlier today, and barring an emergency (and he'd made it very, very clear to the team that the definition of "emergency" had a high threshold) he and Tony would be spending the weekend in the woods.

Gibbs unwrapped the rolls and pulled his hot dog off the stick. He offered one to Tony. Tony immediately grabbed another hot dog and did a complicated transfer before putting the stick back over the fire, uncooked hot dog in place.

Gibbs took a bite. "So, you've never been camping before." Tony shook his head. "Is it like you thought?"

"Not exactly," Tony said around a mouthful of his own. "I mean, I was gonna go with my class, so that would have been different, you know? We probably would have done different stuff. Ms. Daniels made everyone identify plants off a worksheet; I guess it was a scavenger hunt or something."

"A worksheet?" Gibbs snorted. "Don't need a worksheet to identify plants. I can show you some tomorrow."

Tony shrugged. "If you want, that would be cool. I mean, it wasn't the end of the world that I missed it or anything. Everyone talked about it forever, all the cool stuff they did. But they all had mosquito bites, and it was spring, so they got wet, and I bet they were freezing too. It probably wouldn't have been as much fun as I thought. I think I would have been bored."

Gibbs could hear the yearning in Tony's voice, despite his words. Tony didn't _really_ think he would have been bored; it just made it easier to say that, and after awhile, he probably believed it. No, he would have enjoyed himself. He found himself getting upset with the elder DiNozzo all over again.

Tony started in on what Gibbs realized had to be his fourth hot dog.

"Too late to be identifying plants," Gibbs said. "But I can show you some of the constellations if you want."

"Really?" Tony sounded so eager. "That would be awesome."

Gibbs turned around and slid off the log to sit on the ground and use the log as a backrest. "C'mere, then," he said, patting the ground next to him. Tony copied him, shoving the last bite into his mouth so he could lean his weight on his elbows.

"Okay," Gibbs said, pointing up into the sky. "If you look that way, see those three bright stars? They're like a triangle. See them?" He felt Tony nod next to him. "They're not technically a constellation, but they're easy to find. That's called the summer triangle."

"Cool," Tony said.

"Now, if you look at that bottom star in the triangle, that one's part of the constellation called Aquila the Eagle. See there...and there...and there...those are other stars that are part of it. See it?"

"Doesn't really look like an eagle to me," Tony said. "Looks like a triangle with a tail."

"You gotta use your imagination a little," Gibbs said, tapping Tony playfully on the head. "These were thought up a long time ago, by the Greeks and the Romans. And see that one on the right? That one is part of Cygnus, the swan."

He continued to point them out to Tony, who made comments on how much each constellation did or did not look like its namesake, until a yawn nearly burst his eardrum. "Getting tired, kid?"

"Maybe a little," Tony admitted. Gibbs glanced over at him; his eyelids were drooping, and he looked about ready to drop.

"C'mon. Let's hit the rack."

"But..." Tony protested, rubbing at his eyes.

"They'll be here tomorrow night," Gibbs said firmly.

"But Gibbs..." Tony complained again.

"No buts." He stood, stretching again, then reached a hand down to help Tony to his feet.

Tony's face was easy to read in the dimming light of the campfire; he was exhausted, but didn't want to go to bed yet. Gibbs pulled him up, put his hand on Tony's shoulder and turned him towards the tent. "Go on, kid," he said.

"But I—" Tony started to say again. Gibbs rolled his eyes and started in with the familiar motion of a head slap before a flash of Tony's reaction that night with the popcorn crossed his mind He redirected the motion into a swat on the seat of Tony's pants. "Bedtime," he repeated firmly.

Tony swung his hand back in a delayed attempt to protect his backside. "I'm going!" he said, his voice pitched a little high. "See? Look, I'm going!" He turned and scurried into the tent. "Don't have to tell me twice."

Gibbs almost chuckled, since he'd had to tell him not twice, but four times, but he could understand the sentiment. He crawled in after him and zipped the tent behind them. Although the light was limited, his hearing told him Tony was already awkwardly squirming into his NCIS sweats in the limited space of the tent. Gibbs unzipped his sleeping bag just enough to tuck himself inside, then re-zipped it for warmth. He heard the zip of Tony's sleeping bag. And then there was quiet.

Gibbs was just starting to drift off when Tony broke the silence.

"Gibbs?" Tony whispered.

After a moment, Gibbs found his way back out of drowsing. "Yeah?"

"Are you mad at me?"

Gibbs was floored. "What?" he asked. Why would Tony think he was mad? "Why would you ask that?"

"Uh..." He heard Tony shift in his sleeping bag. "Well, I guess...I mean, I should have just, you know, done what you said. I was...kind of being bad."

"You were being a kid, Tony. Not bad." Gibbs said, knowing that to the senior DiNozzo, those two actions were one and the same, and again hating the man for it. "And I was...am...tired. Now go to sleep."

There was another long bout of silence, and again Gibbs was almost drifting off, when Tony spoke again.

"So...are you mad?" It was barely a whisper.

Gibbs sighed, pulled one hand free of the sleeping bag, and carefully ruffled Tony's hair in the dark. "No. Now, go to sleep, or else I'm gonna be a cranky old bear in the morning."

He heard a bona-fide giggle from Tony. And then, all was quiet.


	18. Learning

_AN: A short and fluffy interlude to tide you over, as this case of writer's block has only just started to improve. Be assured—I am still working on this story, and it will be finished eventually!_

_

* * *

_

Gibbs woke to the chirping of birds. He opened his eyes and stared up at the tent above him; he could see dew condensing on the waterproof tarp. Sunshine was already making its way through the thin fabric of the tent.

He glanced over at Tony, who was snoring softly and sound asleep. His face looked soft and peaceful in the dim morning light. It was good to see him like that, Gibbs mused. He was never so unguarded while he was awake, neither as an adult nor as a child, but asleep, Gibbs had some hope for Tony yet.

He stood up and crept out of the tent to take care of necessities before making the short hike to the car and retrieving the rest of the food from the trunk. Breakfast time. And the meal might be a little bit of foolishness on his part, perhaps, but...well...

When Kelly was about four, he had taken his family on a camping trip. That one had been in his father's backyard, more or less; he'd taken them to a clearing near the house where he'd gone and played as a kid. He'd had fun showing Kelly his old hiding spot tucked away in the trunk of a tree, and had laughed when Kelly had scolded, "Daddy! You couldn'ta hided in there! You're too big!" and crawled into it herself, her little frame taking up half the space.

"Daddy wasn't always a grown up," he had said, chuckling.

His daughter's eyes had gotten huge and round. "Really?" she said.

It was one of his favorite memories. And that weekend, they'd had pancakes for breakfast. Shannon's idea; she'd told him in no uncertain terms that she and Kelly were not going to spend the weekend eating MRE's, and so, amused, he'd packed a frying pan and some "just-add-water" pancake mix for his girls.

His eyes prickled as he remembered, and he crouched down to wake up the fire, letting a tear fall behind the cover of the smoke. He found himself rolling his eyes at his own folly. He knew damn well the smoke wasn't making his eyes water.

Enough. The fire was burning brightly. He stood, wiped an arm across his face, and went to mix up the pancake batter.

* * *

Tony's nose woke him. He sniffed a few times. Was that...? It smelled good.

He sat up and looked around. Gibbs must be cooking, because he wasn't in the tent. He crawled into the daylight, squinting.

Gibbs was crouched at the edge of last night's campfire. He turned his head at the sound of the tent zipper.

"Morning, Tony," he said.

"Morning," Tony replied.

"Hungry?"

Tony took stock. "Uh, yeah...but..."

Gibbs made a gesture towards the woods, and Tony took that as his cue.

Upon returning to the campfire, his eyes lit upon a skillet, set up on some kind of wire rack over the open flames. "Is that...?" Tony asked, sniffing again.

"Pancakes," Gibbs said. "Want one?"

"Uh huh," Tony said through a yawn, sitting at the log they'd perched on last night.

"It'll be ready in a few." He watched as Gibbs flipped the cakes. "Got some peanut butter and some syrup."

"Peanut butter? On pancakes?"

"Yeah. Try it before you wrinkle your nose," he suggested, his eyes crinkling.

Tony shrugged. He'd try anything, once.

The sun was bright, and he enjoyed the warmth on his face and the easy silence as he waited. Gibbs was whistling softly as he flipped the pancakes. "Grab a plate."

Tony looked around; a pair of metal plates were stacked on top of the log. He grabbed both and passed one to Gibbs, who plopped two pancakes on it before handing it back.

He gave Gibbs the other plate. "Forks?" he asked.

Gibbs gestured towards the cooler near the tent. "In there."

Tony grabbed both from the cooler along with the syrup and the peanut butter, and brought one back for Gibbs, who accepted it with a nod of the head. Then he sat on the log and twisted the lid off the peanut butter. "It's good?" he asked.

"I like it," Gibbs said with a shrug. That was good enough for Tony. He dug his fork into the peanut butter and spread some on his pancakes. Then he took the syrup and poured it over the top, and dug in.

Gibbs poured more batter into the skillet before settling next to him, balancing his plate on his knee.

It was pretty good, Tony had to admit. "Yum," he commented, shoveling in another bite.

"Sleep okay?" Gibbs queried through a bite of his own.

"Yeah," Tony said. "And I had the coolest dream! Me and you were looking up at the stars, just like we were last night, and then, suddenly, one of the stars turned to an eagle and flew down and asked if we wanted to go fly with it. And suddenly, I could fly, and you were flying too, and it was so cool!"

Suddenly, Tony realized he was babbling. He cut himself off abruptly and looked at Gibbs' face, feeling a little worried. Just because Gibbs was there didn't mean he had to talk his ear off, his mother's voice reminded him gently in his head. But Gibbs had a little smile on his face.

Tony took another bite and chewed busily to keep himself from talking too much.

* * *

"Clean up," Gibbs said around a last bite of peanut butter-coated pancakes. He grabbed a handful of sand from the ground around the campfire and rubbed it on his plate, then grabbed another handful, rubbing and brushing it off into the fire until the syrup and peanut butter all came off. The clumps of syrup and peanut butter covered sand burned in the fire so they didn't have to worry about bears, or, around here, more likely raccoons, snooping around their tents. Without a word, Tony followed his lead, until they had two plates gritty with sand but otherwise clean.

"There's a brook this way," Gibbs said, gesturing off towards a game trail that lead into the woods. He'd been in this area a few times; mostly, he did target practice on the range, but every once in a while, he felt like going into the woods and shooting some cans, so he came here. He'd thought, more than once, that it would be a good place to camp, and so when he'd decided to take Tony camping, it had immediately come to mind.

They came to the edge of the stream and Gibbs dropped to crouch on his heels and rinsed the sandy eating ware in it. Tony raised his eyebrows. "No soap?" he asked.

Gibbs shook his head. "Don't need it," he replied. So with a shrug,Tony crouched as well and they finished cleaning off their dishes and rinsing off their hands.

Gibbs stood and used the hem of his shirt to dry both dishes and hands. Tony grinned and followed his example gleefully. "My mom would go crazy if she saw me do this," he confided. Gibbs felt a smile tilt his lips. Tony sounded exactly like he always did-eager and good-natured; it was great to hear him sound like himself again.

"C'mon," he said. "You wanna go look at plants?"

You would have thought he'd offered Tony a hundred bucks, Gibbs thought as Tony's eyes lit up like sparklers. "Really?" he asked.

"Let's put the dishes away first, and I'll give you a crash course," Gibbs said with a nod.

"Cool!" Tony said, and dashed up the game trail towards their camp site like the eleven-year-old he thought he was, with Gibbs taking a more leisurely pace at his heels.

* * *

They walked back into the woods. Gibbs' footsteps were silent as a ninja or a ghost, and no matter how Tony tried he sounded more like a baby elephant. Gibbs' eyes were scanning the wildlife near their feet, looking sharply for something, but for what, Tony had no clue. Some kind of plant, right?

Gibbs made a little noise before dropping onto one knee, and beckoning at Tony. He pointed at some weird, whitish, brainlike structures near the ground. "See that?" he asked, his voice quiet amid the natural souonds of nature. Tony nodded, studying the ugly little cluster. "Those are mushrooms. Morels," he said. He snapped one off near the base, and pulled his knife from his pockket, neatly slicing it in half crosswise. "See how the inside is hollow like that?"

It kind of looked like a set of teeth, if you could open your head in half and see your top or bottom jaw from directly above, Tony thought. He nodded.

"That means it's a real morel that's safe to eat." Gibbs sliced off a small piece and popped it into his mouth, then sliced off another for Tony, who chewed on it. He wiped the blade of his knife off on the hem of his shirt, then stood.

Tony wasn't sure if he liked the morels; they tasted like dirt. But he swallowed it and followed after Gibbs.

"Now this," Gibbs said, stopping suddenly and kicking at another clump of mushrooms, "is not a morel. See why?"

Tony frowned. It looked similar...but instead of being white and brainlike, it was brown. It kind of looked like it was rotting, but the same mushroom. "Uh..." he said. "It's rotten?"

"No, not rotten. Different mushroom." Gibbs bent and snapped off one of the mushrooms, then sliced it in half again. This one looked different on the inside than the other one had; there was no hollow space inside of it, and instead of looking like a jaw full of teeth, it more closely resembled a head of cabbage. Plus, the stem was bulgy at the bottom. Tony voiced his observations, studying the mushrooms that Gibbs held in either hand.

"Exactly," Gibbs replied. "It's a false morel." He weighed the ugly brown one in his hand. "It's also a lot heavier than the real morel, and if you eat it, you will regret it."

"What happens?" Tony asked, perversely curious.

"Muscle cramps, headaches, nausea, and if you eat more than a bite or two, likely death," Gibbs said, unperturbed. "It's poisonous."

Tony looked at the mushrooms in Gibbs' hands a little more closely. "Cool," he said with respect.

Gibbs sent the false morel sailing into the woods. "So if you ever get stuck in the woods and see one of those, leave 'em alone."

"Okay," Tony said. They continued walking, having long left the game trail and now picking their way around trees and brush and over fallen logs. It was mostly calm and quiet, interrupted somewhat by Tony's wandering path through the brush and foliage. The birds chirped high in the trees, undisturbed by the clumsy human in their midst.

The air was fresh and warm, and Tony was enjoying himself; the breeze, the feeling of sun and shadows dancing across his face, even the slight burn of his muscles as he picked his way through the woods. Gibbs would occasionally stop and draw Tony's attention to one thing or another-he pointed out wild onions, crab apples, the difference between choke cherries, which were bitter but edible and good for making jelly, and bittersweets, which would make you very sick. He also showed Tony how to identify different trees-poplar, maple, oak and birch. It was really cool to Tony, whose own father wouldn't know one from another, and even if he did, he certainly wouldn't go clomping around in the woods to teach him.

Not that you could call Gibbs' quiet, feather-light footsteps "clomping".

"Tony, c'mere," Gibbs said, beckoning. "Watch where you're stepping, though, because you don't wanna get this stuff all over your shoes."

Tony made his way towards Gibbs, wondering if he was going to show him a pile of poop or something equally gross. "What?" He said.

Gibbs stopped him with a palm against his chest. "I said don't step in it," he warned again.

Tony frowned. All he saw were lush, green plants in a patch on the ground. "Why not?"

Because it's poison ivy," Gibbs said. Then he looked up at Tony. "Wait a second. I thought you knew what poison ivy was?"

Tony wondered why, if Gibbs thought he knew what it was, he'd bothered to point it out to him, but refrained from asking. Instead, he shook his head. "Uh uh."

Gibbs sighed, shaking his own head. "Jethro," he mumbled under his breath. Then he looked at Tony again. "Okay. This is poison ivy." He bent and grabbed a dead stick off the ground and used it to push back some of the leaves. "See how it's got three leaves? A little shiny? That is a sure sign you're dealing with poison ivy."

"What happens if you touch it?" Tony asked, his stomach twisting a little. He wasn't completely sure, but the plant looked too familiar for comfort. Had he touched some last night? It had been getting kind of dark when he went to get hot-dog roasting sticks...

"A really itchy rash," Gibbs said.

Tony relaxed. For one thing, he would have noticed a really itchy rash by now, and for another, a rash wasn't going to kill him. "That doesn't sound that bad."

Gibbs snorted. "Obviously, you've never had poison ivy," he replied. He dropped the stick. "C'mon. Are you getting hungry?"

In reply, Tony's stomach growled. He looked at Gibbs, surprised. "How do you do that?"

Gibbs smirked. "It's almost lunchtime," he said with a quick gesture to the sky. Tony wasn't sure what that had to do with lunchtime, but whatever.

"No way. We've only been out here for-"

"A couple of hours. C'mon. We'll head back." He started to walk.

"A couple of hours? Wait a second," Tony said, scurrying behind him. "Does that mean we're going to have to walk a couple of hours to get back?"


	19. Poison

Gibbs had deliberately walked them in a wide, spiraling circle, so it only took them twenty minutes to walk back to their campsite, even with the slight detour to the car to get food from the trunk. He stoked the fire up from its hibernating state and then put the deep skillet he'd made pancakes in this morning back on its metal rack. "Jug of water," he said to Tony. It only took seconds for Tony to return to his side, gallon jug in hand. "Pour...yeah, little more...stop." He turned to the cooler, which now only held non-perishables since they'd eaten everything that had to be kept cool the night before. He started to rummage.

"What's lunch going to be?" Tony asked. "Is it going to take a long time to cook?"

Gibbs shook his head, both as an answer and as a reaction to Tony's impatience. "Tuna Helper," he replied. He pulled the box from the cooler. "Wanna help?"

"I don't know how to cook," Tony warned him, but he looked pleased at the idea of making their meal, which decided it for Gibbs. He would suffer through worse than burnt Tuna Helper for Tony's sake.

"Doesn't matter," Gibbs said. "You can read." He tossed the box to Tony, who caught it in one hand. "Directions on the back. Don't burn yourself."

He kept careful watch on Tony as he figured out the directions though, because knowing Tony, both the child version and the adult one, he _would_ find a way to get hurt doing such a simple task. Trouble seemed to follow Tony DiNozzo wherever he went.

It didn't take very long for Tony to get the sauce going. Half the can of tuna ended up in the fire, but Gibbs didn't say anything, and Tony shrugged it off, scratching his forehead as if he wasn't sure how that happened. He perched on the log next to Gibbs and watched the sauce bubble, stirring it occasionally.

"You know, I've never cooked anything before," Tony commented, scratching his arm absently. "At home, the staff does all that stuff. I mean, once in a while, my mom cooks her famous spaghetti, but that's not very often." Gibbs glanced over at Tony, who was intently watching their lunch cook. "And if I'm in the kitchen, I'm supposed to sit at the counter, not help. They say I'm really easy to step on. I bet if they saw me now, no one would accidentally step on me. I bet I'm taller than Luis now." He smiled a little; Gibbs saw his lips curve.

"Who's Luis?"

"Our chef. He's really tall," Tony said, meeting Gibbs' eyes for a moment. "And he's my friend too. He's always nice to me. Once when Dad sent me to bed without supper for coming home from school with a grubby uniform, Luis sent his wife up with a plate for me because he knew it wasn't my fault."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, which Tony rightly interpreted as a signal to continue. "I'd told him-Luis, I mean-about the sixth graders who kept shoving me around at recess. I was in second grade, so that's why they could beat me up," he added defensively.

Gibbs thought ruefully about some of the brawls he'd gotten into all throughout his school years in Stillwater. "Happens to the best of us," he commented mildly.

That seemed to be all there was to say, because Tony nodded, clawing at his elbow. "Think we could add the noodles yet?"

Gibbs nodded, grinning at the sudden change in subject. That was Tony, mind always on his stomach.

* * *

Tony scratched at his neck. "I didn't do that bad of a job," he said, taking another bite of the tuna concoction.

"Did pretty good," Gibbs said with a nod, shoveling in another bite. They ate in silence for awhile, Tony running his nails absentmindedly across his shins as he chewed.

Suddenly, Gibbs' eyes focused on his hand. "Itchy?" he asked, quickly swallowing the food he'd had in his mouth.

"Yeah," Tony said, taking another bite. Gibbs put down his dish and bent forward. Tony stopped chewing. "What?" he mumbled. Something was up.

Gibbs shook his head. "This isn't good," he said, poking at Tony's shin. Tony looked down, and saw a very pale pink, blotchy spread over his shins. He looked at Gibbs again.

"What is it?" he asked, afraid he already knew. Gibbs' words confirmed it.

"Looks like poison ivy to me," he said grimly.

* * *

They packed in a whirlwind. Since Tony already had poison ivy, Gibbs made sure he packed up everything he'd touched recently before getting both Tony and all the camping stuff into the car. He was thankful that he'd packed so light; it made it easier to get them out of there.

Tony sat in the passenger seat, scratching miserably. "Stop it," Gibbs said. "You're not supposed to scratch it."

"It's really itchy!" Tony said, scratching at his neck.

"Don't care. Stop scratching." He smacked Tony's hand, and Tony pulled it away with a wounded look. "Ducky'd say the same," he reminded him.

Then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He hit Ducky's speed dial.

"Jethro? Is something wrong? You said that you weren't to be bothered unless there was an emergency?" Ducky's anxious voice came through the tinny phone speakers.

"No emergency, Duck. Not exactly, anyway," Gibbs said. "But I think Tony's got poison ivy."

Ducky make a tsking noise. "Poison ivy? Jethro, weren't you watching the boy? He's never been particularly woods-savvy anyway, and it isn't as though he had a childhood filled with camping trips and scouting! Why on earth-"

"Can you save the lecture for later? Believe me, I realize. What should I do with him?"

He heard Ducky sigh. "I'll meet you at your house. Leave anything he may have touched outside so you don't spread the urushiol oil through your house; it will never come out completely from upholstery."

"Clothes?" Gibbs asked.

"Wash them a few times, hot water, lots of detergent," Ducky replied. "And if you happen to have thick, rubber dishwashing gloves, I would put them on before touching anything that Anthony has touched, such as his sleeping bag."

"What about for Tony?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, it's a bit late, but I suppose you could get him in the shower, so he can wash off any remaining oil on his skin. It probably has all absorbed by now, though. When did he get into it?"

"Probably last night," Gibbs replied grimly.

"Oh, dear. Well, a shower won't hurt, and he'll need to change into clean clothes anyway. Cool water, Jethro, not hot, because if there is any oil left, it will spread; hot water opens pores. And make sure he doesn't scratch!" The last was vehement.

"Easier said than done, Duck," Gibbs said, glancing over to Tony, who was scratching. He saw a light pink trail on his cheek that disappeared down his neck and into his tee shirt.

"It's really not going to make the situation any better if he scratches it. He could easily get an infection."

"Alright, I'll try," Gibbs said, not wanting to argue about the impossibility of it. "See you there." He flipped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket.

Tony looked at him, scratching away at his arm. "Knock it off," Gibbs said again, and Tony put his hands in his lap.

"What did Ducky say?" Tony asked, his hand sneaking a scratch at his elbow.

"He said not to scratch," Gibbs said pointedly, glaring at Tony's hand. "And that you need a shower, and not to bring your stuff into the house."

"Gibbs, it's really itchy," Tony whined, scratching the front of one leg with the back of his foot .

Gibbs felt for him. He really did. He'd gotten poison ivy a couple of times, and the stuff was nasty. But Ducky was already thinking about shooting him; he didn't need to give him any more ammo.

"Might as well practice not scratching now, Tony," he said. "It's only going to get worse."

* * *

By the time they got back to Gibbs' house, all Tony could think about was scratching his itchy spots. He saw Ducky's Morgan in the driveway. "He's here!" he said. Hopefully the doctor would know how to make this insane itching go away. It seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

Gibbs parked. "C'mon."

Tony nearly ran for the house, scratching with abandon now that he was out of Gibbs' reach. He burst through the door and nearly bowled over Ducky, who had apparently been going to meet them outside. "Anthony!" Ducky said, sounding surprised.

"It itches really bad," Tony said by way of explanation. "Can you fix it?"

"Oh, dear," Ducky said, his eyes roving over Tony's exposed skin. "Let's get you into the shower, shall we? Then I'll see what is to be done." He turned, and Tony followed on his heels.

Ducky went into the bathroom and began fiddling with the knobs in the shower, testing the temperature with the inside of his wrist.

"Uh, Ducky? I know how to do that," he said.

"It's imperative, my boy, that the water isn't too hot, because that could make the oil spread," Ducky said. "That would only make the situation worse. Why, when I was a lad, there was a boy in my school who thought he would be very clever and find a snake in the woods. I believe he wanted it as a pet. Anyway, he came back without a snake, but in a matter of hours, he had a blooming case of poison ivy. When the matron saw, she put him directly into a hot bath, not realizing that it would make the poison sink into his skin more directly. And oh, it did. He had such a case of poison ivy; it made us itch just to look at him, poor boy." Ducky shook the water off his hand. "There, that's about as warm as I dare. Now, let's see how bad it really is."

Tony thought about protesting, but at the determined look on Ducky's face, changed his mind. He pulled off his shirt under Ducky's watchful eyes. Ducky tsked.

"All over your stomach; what were you doing out there? You didn't have your shirt off, did you?" His tone was so disapproving that Tony winced.

Only for a moment in the tent when I was changing!" Tony said. Ducky shook his head.

"You must have scratched your stomach with the poison ivy on your hands," Ducky said. "Turn around; let's see if you got it on your back somehow."

Tony turned, and listened as Ducky made more disapproving noises. "Well, it isn't as bad as your stomach," he said. "But...well, I have no idea how you got it on your back. I'm assuming you aren't so flexible as to have used your hands to itch your back like that, and I doubt you were rolling in it on the ground, or it would be more severe. Any idea, Anthony?"

Tony shrugged miserably.

"Oh well. Let's continue. Pants off," Ducky ordered cheerfully.

"Ducky..." Tony protested.

"I'm a doctor, dear boy, and I've seen you wearing less than that. And I'm assuming, from the way you keep scratching your legs, that you contacted poison ivy on your lower extremities as well." He gave Tony a sympathetic look.

With a sigh, Tony undid his jeans and let them drop to the floor before stepping out of them. The sight of his shins made him wince, and when he looked up at Ducky, the doctor had an expression on his face that Tony thought looked like a mix of horror and appreciation. "Oh dear," Ducky mumbled.

The tone of that phrase was not comforting to Tony.

"Well, you'll have stories to tell one day, lad." Ducky said finally.

That sounded even worse.

"And your, er...nether regions? Did you get poison ivy there?" Ducky asked with a nod in that general direction.

Tony felt himself blanch, and he pulled his waistband away from his stomach and checked himself out. He sighed in relief. "All's well down there," he reported gratefully.

"Good, good," Ducky said, sounding relieved. "My friend from school wasn't so fortunate. Not that I saw his injury first-hand, mind you, but the poor lad was in tears, the itching was so severe. And, well, it's hardly a bit of anatomy to scratch with abandon."

Tony felt his face flame, but Ducky appeared not to notice. "I'll be off now to let you bathe in piece. Mind not to make the water any warmer, or you may truly regret it! And scrub well; lots of soap. And wash your hands well between body parts."

"Ok Ducky I've got it. I have showered before," Tony reminded him, trying not to sound TOO exasperated.

Ducky chuckled. "Right. On with it, then." And finally he left Tony alone in the bathroom.

Tony quickly shucked his boxers and stepped into the shower. The cold water made him gasp. He considered for a moment turning up the hot water, but Ducky's dire stories made him decide against it.

Tony shivered under the too-chill spray as he scrubbed mercilessly at his itchy skin. It really was getting worse, he thought miserably.

Finally when he could handle the freezing water no longer, he turned it off. Stepping from the shower he got a good look at himself in the mirror. Because the water was cool, it hadn't fogged at all, leaving a crystal clear reflection. Tony winced.

He could see patches of the rash all over his body. His chest and stomach had raw red lines all over its surface. His shins looked especially red, but he was more worried about the pink patch that covered a part of his face from his left eye, down his cheek, until it stopped at the line of his collarbone. It was starting to swell, looking like the beginning of an impressive shiner.

He turned and examined his back in the mirror. A few long, red marks, like scratches or lashes, ran from the small of his back to the gap between his shoulder blades. His calves were marked nearly as bad as his shins and a red patch the size of a fist dotted one butt cheek.

Ducky hadn't been kidding. He was going to be miserable.

With chattering teeth, Tony wrapped himself in a towel and headed off to his bedroom.

* * *

In the kitchen, Ducky interrogated his other charge. Having established that Jethro ought to have kept a closer eye on the lad, he moved onto his next concern.

"And what about you, my friend? Were you traipsing about in a patch of poison ivy as well?" Ducky allowed his tone to be a bit pointed.

"I don't traipse, Duck," Jethro replied with a look. Ducky was not intimidated.

"Well walking or traipsing, poison ivy will still cause a nasty reaction in many people," Ducky replied. "Did you come into contact with it?"

His friend sighed. "i don't know. Not firsthand, but if Tony touched me or anything I touched right after he touched it-"

"Indeed, it could spread that way. Mr. Palmer got an ugly case on his wrists once from a Navy Seal found in a patch of the stuff. We had trouble figuring out how at first though because he hadn't left autopsy for this whole case. However, it came to light that the gap between his gloves and the scrub top had contact with the Seal's corpse and-"

."It figures Palmer could get a rash from a corpse," Jethro snorted.

"The boy was rather traumatized, Jethro," Ducky lectured disprovingly. "He thought he'd gotten flesh rot. He'd only been working at NCIS a matter of weeks at the time, and he nearly quit before I could talk him out of his hysteria."

"It wouldn't be my first case, Duck."

"Hmm...well, it does show up much sooner if you've had it before." He studied his friend's exposed skin, looking for the tell-tale scaly red rash, but saw nothing. "Still, it would be best if you took a shower."

Jethro glared, but Ducky just glared back. "I shall have no sympathy if you come down with the rash because you refused a shower," he warned.

Jethro sighed. "When Tony gets out," he capitulated.

Ducky smiled. Despite what some thought, his hearing was just fine, and mere seconds ago he'd heard the shower turn off. "Go ahead then. I'll see to Anthony."

* * *

Although Gibbs no longer did the traditional "military shower" complete with shivering as you soaped up, he rarely took a shower that lasted longer than five minutes. He exited the bathroom a mere eight minutes after entering, relieved that _his_ skin, at least, bore no sign of the awful rash that plagued Tony.

He peeked into Tony's room, where Ducky was spreading pink lotion over his back. Gibbs couldn't help but wince when he saw exactly how much of Tony's body was slathered in Calamine. If he remembered right, it didn't help much anyway.

"Quite a rash you've got going there," Gibbs remarked.

Tony turned his head towards the door. "Don't remind me," he begged, a grim look on his face.

"I'm afraid, my dear boy, you aren't likely to forget," Ducky pointed out. He peeled his gloves from his hands. "You allow that to dry before putting a shirt on," he said.

Gibbs saw Tony start to roll his eyes, then catch himself. He held back a grin when Tony looked at him, probably to see if he'd noticed.

"Ok, Ducky," Tony said with only the slightest trace of exasperation. Gibbs let his lips quirk into a half-smile. Gibbs knew Tony saw it from the little smile he gave back.

"Right then. And you, Jethro? Any sign of it?" Ducky ushered Gibbs out into the hall.

"Nope. Lucked out, I guess," Gibbs said.

"Well, good. I'm afraid you'll be miserable enough dealing with Tony's affliction!"

* * *

They worked together, sanding the boat, but Tony was distracted. When the sandpaper occurred to him as an option for scratching his itches, he decided to take a break.

"I think I'm dying," Tony whined. He put down his sandpaper and walked over to the stairs, taking a seat on the steps. He'd thought the chicken pox were terrible, but compared to poison ivy, they were a picnic. He scratched surreptitiously at his shins.

"Oh, you're not dying yet, but keep scratching like that and I'm going to kill you," Gibbs replied, deadpan.

"It itches so bad I would be okay with that," Tony replied. "At least you'd be putting me out of my misery!" He stopped scratching, though.

Gibbs snorted and continued sanding the boat.

Tony leaned back against the stairs. "It's been like this for three days," he reminded Gibbs. "Three really, really long days!"

"I realize," Gibbs said dryly.

"And no matter what Ducky says, oatmeal baths, Calamine, and Benadryl aren't really helping. Plus my eye's all swelled shut-"

"But not your mouth," Gibbs said, although he was smiling, which softened the barb. Despite himself, Tony grinned.

"I'm glad you stayed here with me," Tony said. "I didn't want to have to go to that daycare place with this stuff all over me." He shifted his weight back and forth to scratch his back against the stairs.

" I couldn't have subjected those nice girls to you like this," Gibbs said with a philosophical shrug. "Then I would be responsible for their justifiable homicide. _Stop_ _scratching_."

Tony rolled his eyes. Over the last three days, what Abby had always said was cemented deeply in his brain-Gibbs' bark WAS worse than his bite. And thinking of which...

"Do you think Abby's going to come over again today?" he asked.

Gibbs' gave him a look. "Does the sun rise in the east?" he replied.

"Good," Tony said. "Not that I'm not having fun with you," he said, looking at Gibbs, who resolutely continued to sand, "but, well...I mean, Abby's more...uh..." He stopped for a moment, not wanting to be insulting.

Gibbs summed it up perfectly, though, a little smile on his face. "Abby. She's more Abby."

Tony smiled. "Yeah."


	20. Hide'n'Seek

Abby kicked off her knee-high lace up platform boots at the door. "Tony!" she squealed, pulling him into a hug. "Your poor face! Can you even see out of that eye? That rash looks worse every time I see it. But have no fear-I've got something that might help. It's a concoction of my granny's-took me forever to remember where it was written down. I haven't had to whip any up since Timmy got it that one time. I'm not much for camping, you know. It's way too easy to sunburn. But Granny was a true southern lady. She knew a little about everything!" She released Tony finally and pushed him out to arms' length to get a better look at him. "Wow. That rash truly does look gruesome. Isn't that an fantastic word, gruesome?"

"Not if you're describing something on someone's body, Abs," Gibbs said calmly, coming up the stairs from the basement.

Abby frowned. "I guess. Um...it's astonishing. Astounding. Impressive-"

"And itchy. Don't forget itchy." Tony scratched furtively at his stomach.

"I see you scratching, mister," Abby said, on top of Gibbs' loud, "Tony!"

"It's itchy! What else am I supposed to do?" he asked pitifully. Abby forced herself to keep tough, even though it was no easy task with those big hazel puppy eyes he was giving her.

"Keep scratching it, and I'll tape oven mitts over your hands," she warned determinedly. The look in Tony's eyes turned to pure horror.

"You wouldn't," he said weakly, not sounding at all sure.

"I most certainly would," Abby said. "It's no fun, but it does work. That's what my granny did when we had chicken pox."

"Good idea, Abs," Gibbs said. "I've got oven mitts around here. And duct tape." He turned as if to go into the kitchen.

"I'll be good!" Tony promised fervently, shaking his head. "I'm really trying not to scratch, but I forget. It's so itchy. I just want to peel my skin off!"

"That's why I brought Granny's secret Goop," Abby replied. "Timmy swore it helped."

Tony nodded. She could see how hard he was working not to scratch at his itches; his arms kept jerking back and forth as he fought between the urge to scratch and the urge to remain oven-mitt-free. If she hadn't known the real reason, she might have worried about seizures.

"Okay, then. I'll try anything. Let's see your granny's secret stuff. This rash is gruesome." Even in his discomfort, Tony grinned. She could tell he liked his new vocabulary word.

Abby grinned back. "One Super-Secret Anti-Itchy Magic Goop coming right up!" She dug a jar, carefully labeled "Granny's Super-Secret Anti-Itchy Magic Goop" in spidery caligraphy, from her coffin-shaped purse. Before Tony could take it from her, Gibbs snatched it from her hand, opened it, and sniffed the contents. He made a face.

"What the hell is in that crap?" he asked, studying the mixture closely.

"It's a secret, Gibbs," Abby scolded. "If I told you, it would hardly be Super-Secret Anti-Itchy Magic Goop, now, would it?"

"If you poison him, I'm not running interference with Ducky for you," Gibbs cautioned, handing it back to her. She didn't miss the desperate look Tony shot Gibbs, who seemed oblivious.

"I would never accidentally poison anyone," Abby said indignantly. "And I would never poison you, Tony. Anymore," she added.

"Anymore?" Tony squeaked.

"Well, I considered it when Gibbs first hired you, but once I realized you weren't..." She reconsidered her words. It probably wasn't appropriate to say "the sexaholic frat boy you pretended to be" to an eleven-year-old. "A big meanie," she decided finally, "I changed my mind." She smiled brightly at him.

Tony didn't look as reassured as Abby would have liked, but he smiled weakly. "Okay, Abs," he said.

Abby felt a warm, bright burn in her chest. "You called me Abs!" she squealed. "You can't imagine how much I've missed that!" She pulled Tony into another bone-crushing hug.

"Don't break him, Abby," Gibbs cautioned. He kissed her cheek and patted Tony's shoulder. "I'll be back in a couple hours. Both of you, behave yourselves."

"I always do," Abby said. Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Sometimes. When it's absolutely necessary," she amended.

"I will," Tony promised.

"Remember Abby, you're the grown-up here. I expect you to keep everything together while I'm at the base." He took her shoulder in one hand, and Tony's in the other, and moved them to the side so he could fit out the door.

"You can count on me, Gibbs," Abby said seriously, her arms still wrapped around Tony's torso.

"Okay. Back in a few hours." And with that, Gibbs left the house.

Abby released her charge so she could look at him better. "Let's slather some Goop on you, and then we'll think of something fun to do, okay?"

Tony nodded eagerly. "Please tell me that stuff really works," he begged. Abby grinned.

"Like magic," she assured him.

* * *

To Tony's surprise and relief, that magic goop of Abby's really did help with the itching. It didn't disappear, but it reduced it to the level of a pesky mosquito bite rather than the brutal itch that made him want to sand his skin off.

She had herded him into the bathroom and rubbed the goop over his back while he coated his arms and chest. Then he'd sat on the edge of the bath tub and rolled up his pant legs.

"Eew," Abby said, looking at the fluid filled blisters that covered his lower legs. "You are on your own with putting the goop on those. Your legs look like zombie bubble wrap."

Tony made a face. "Ducky said that I shouldn't pop them, but you can't get poison ivy from the water in them."

"Well, that's great. I'm still not touching them." She grinned. "I'll watch, though. What happens if you pop them?"

"It's super gross," Tony said happily. "Like breaking a water balloon made of skin. Wanna see?" He leaned forward to pop one for Abby. She stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Better not. Ducky isn't one to cross as far as medical advice goes. I know he seems like the nicest grandfather you've ever met, because he is—well, not the grandfather part, but the nicest, anyway. Still, you don't want to get on his bad side. Well, not bad side. I mean, Ducky doesn't have a bad side, exactly. But he does have a cross side. And he can lecture until your ears fall off. Not to mention, Gibbs would have a word. Or words, really. And a head slap."

Tony sighed, but resisted popping the bubbled flesh. "You're missing out," he said. He took a blob of goop and started spreading it like frosting over his shins and calves, avoiding the biggest of the bubbles. "They pop sometimes on their own if I put too much pressure on them, like when I'm sleeping."

"Gruesome," Abby said, making a face.

"Yeah." That was a great word, as far as Tony was concerned. "Plus it makes the blankets and stuff get all wet and gross. But I'm getting really good at doing laundry. Gibbs taught me." It was new to him, doing laundry, but he'd actually liked learning. Gibbs had taught him in a very matter-of-fact sort of way, and hadn't been bothered by suddenly pink sheets, socks, and underwear. "That's how you learn," he'd said with a sigh. It had only happened once. Now he knew to double check for red stuff in the whites.

He rolled his pant legs back down. "That's so much better," he said with a sigh of appreciation. "You wanna do something fun now?"

"Like what?" Abby asked.

Tony shrugged. "I don't know. Um..." He thought.

Abby grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "I have an idea. How about...hide and seek?"

Tony felt his own eyes light up. It was one of his favorites...he was very, very good at it. When they played on the school playground, he was usually one of the last to be found, because he always chose the daring places—hard to get to, harder to find. "You're 'it' Abby!" he said.

"You've got sixty seconds," she said. "Anywhere in the house but the forbidden room-"

"Gibbs'?" Tony queried. Abby shook her head.

"Go ahead and hide in there. I'd love a good excuse to poke around in his room. No, I mean Kelly's."

Tony had accidentally stumbled into her room once at three in the morning, still half-asleep as he searched out the bathroom. It had obviously belonged to a little girl, with dolls and stuffed animals and pink and yellow. He'd shut the door just as quietly, and never said a word to Gibbs about it. But now he had a name for that little girl. "Okay," he said softly, wondering about her. Kelly must have been his daughter. Was his daughter. He wondered what the story was there. A lucky kid, Tony thought, to be Gibbs'.

Abby seemed to sense his mood. "Hey. Thought we were playing hide and seek?" she said, with a little tap to the back of his head.

"Yup," Tony replied, shaking off the melancholy that had fallen over him. "Start counting."

Abby turned towards the wall and covered her eyes. "One...two...three..." she began.

Tony took off like a silent shot. He had just the place in mind.

* * *

Abby turned away from the wall. "Ready or not, here I come!" she called loudly.

Tony had been very quiet. She hadn't heard many tell-tale squeaks or creaks from Gibbs' old house, which either meant he'd hidden close by, or that he knew Gibbs' house well enough to know the creaky, squeaky places. With Tony either one was possible.

She made a sweep of the visible closets first, but there was no Tony to be found. Not that she had expected to find him so easily; she would have been a little disappointed if she had. The most obvious ruled out, she got down to business, doing a room-by-room search.

She checked the bathroom next even though she didn't think Tony would hide in such an obvious place as the bathtub. He wasn't in the linen closet either.

A study of Tony's room yielded nothing. The room was as neat as a proverbial pin anyway, with nowhere he could hide but under the bed or in the closet. There was no sign of him. She gave Bert, who had been placed in a place of honor on top of Tony's pillow, a long, fart-inducing squeeze as she thought. He wasn't on this floor. Unless...would he have hidden in Gibbs' room?

Cautiously Abby peeked inside. It became apparent that Tony's militarily neat room had been modeled off of Gibbs' own. The bed was made with crisp square corners, apparent even under the soft, much-washed quilt that covered it. The top of his dresser was bare except for a few precisely laid-out toiletries.

Abby walked inside, curiosity getting the best of her. The closet was hung in orderly lines by type, she noted when she looked for Tony inside. Then, shamelessly, she took a peek into Gibbs' top dresser drawer and grinned. The question of the ages—boxers or briefs—had been answered. She had thought so! "Your secret is safe with me, Gibbs," she said to the air.

A quick peek under the bed revealed Tony wasn't in here either. Huh. She'd check downstairs next.

She walked lightly down the stairs. The kitchen was her first stop on the main floor. She looked in the broom closet and under the sink. Tony was too tall and broad-shouldered to squeeze into a cupboard, although Abby would bet that when he was small, it had been a favorite hiding spot. It was weird and unusual and hard to get into—that had been some of her criteria as a kid.

Abby rounded the living room quickly; there weren't any good hiding places there either. And then it hit her—the basement.

She opened the basement door.

* * *

Tony had known instantly where he wanted to hide. On soft feet he made his way down the stairs, carefully to step only on the sides of the treads where it was less likely they would creak. He skipped the third stair from the bottom completely.

He hurried across the living room with cat-light steps, then scurried down into the basement. Gibbs had said it was okay to be in the basement as long as he was careful. He wouldn't hurt anything.

He pressed himself flat to the floor and inched under the boat like a soldier under barbed wire. This was a good spot. Then he looked up and realized that he could probably lay flat with the cross beams of the boat supporting his weight so even if Abby looked at the boat she wouldn't see him.

He tugged on the beams a few times before feeling sure they could hold his weight. He wouldn't want to break Gibbs boat, after all. And then, carefully, he climbed into the cross beams and lay prone, staring up at the boat's hull inches from his nose. One beam ran under his calves, another in the curve of the small of his back, and a third made a comfortable support for his neck. He could stay here as long as Abby would look. And that would probably be a long time; this was a great

Abby wouldn't find him here!

* * *

In the basement, she could think of a couple good spots. She glanced under the boat first, but did not see any sign of Tony's rash-covered ankles. Then she checked the stacks of boxes, among the wood, and under the stairs. Nothing.

"Where could he be?" Abby murmured, genuinely curious. She'd checked everywhere, hadn't she? Well, obviously not.

She climbed the stairs. She had probably walked right past him. A second look would probably find him.

* * *

The itch started to return. At first, it wasn't so bad, but with each passing minute, the itching got worse. Soon, he was trying not to squirm. Abby's threat to tape oven mitts on his hands was keeping him from scratching-barely. She might not be able to see him, but he would bet that if he scratched, she would know somehow. Abby was spooky that way sometimes.

So he tried to be still and not scratch as the itching built to a crescendo. It was futile. He squirmed around, trying to scratch his shins without leaving his perfect hiding spot. There wasn't much space to bend his knees to reach.

He managed to scratch his left shin with the heel of the right leg, simultaneously scratching his left bicep with his arm wrapped across his chest. He felt the boat shifting a moment too late.

* * *

The boat rocked off the supports that kept it off the floor. It was only a 12 inch drop; he shouldn't have gotten more than a couple of bruises. And he wouldn't have-if he hadn't been supported by the boat's cross beams. Because of that, the back of his neck was supported, but his head was not. And because of THAT, it, along with his butt, hit the ground first.

There was a loud cracking noise, and a moment of sharp, intense pain, and then everything went black.

* * *

She was wondering if maybe he'd hidden outside the house when she heard the crash. It stopped her heart. She bolted down two flights of stairs with all the finesse of a baby hippo. That did not sound good.

In the basement, the sight in front of her froze her body like a Popsicle. The boat! Wood splinters were scattered along the floor. At first, that was all she could see. That, and—oh, God. Tony's hand. That was what was caught under the edge of the boat. Terror grabbed her by the throat, but suddenly, she could move again.

"Tony? Tony? Oh my God!" She dropped to her knees at the side of the boat and tried to flip it. Impossible, even with all the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She fumbled for her cell phone with clumsy fingers. "Tony? Answer me!" she demanded. Only silence. She couldn't even hear his breath. She dialed quickly; 9-1-1. She pressed her fingertips against Tony's. "Tony?" she begged him again. He was silent.

As it rang, she couldn't help but give Tony a piece of her mind. "No. Do not do this to me! You better be fine, do you hear me? I promised Gibbs I wouldn't break you; do NOT make a liar out of me Anthony DiNozzo!"


	21. Rerun

When his phone rang he checked the caller ID. Abby. He picked it up. "Yeah, Gibbs," he said.

"Gibbs, it's me!" Abby yelled into his ear. "I...uh, Tony got, uh, we're headed to Bethesda, in an ambulance, and uh-"

The stuttering made the words more ominous. "What happened?" he demanded, getting up from his desk.

Ziva and McGee jumped up to follow him, and he shook his head. "Abby?" Her silence was unnerving. All he could hear was the general background noise of an ambulance-rhythmic beeps, the compression and decompression of a blood pressure cuff, and a quiet male voice speaking words too muffled to understand.

"We were just playing hide and seek!" Abby pleaded. "He wanted to play and I told him I'd count first, but I only gave him 60 seconds to hide! I didn't think anything could happen in a minute! Only Tony could get hurt playing hide and seek, Gibbs!"

Gibbs sighed and started for the elevator. "Going to Bethesda," he called over his shoulder to his teammates, who didn't bother to pretend they weren't eavesdropping.

"Is everything all right, Boss?" McGee asked.

"It's Tony." he said by way of explanation. "I'll call you when we know something." He returned to his phone conversation. "Okay, Abs, take a breath and tell me what happened," he directed. How the hell could anyone, even Tony, get hurt playing hide and seek?

"We—well, he, I guess, but it was kind of my fault too, indirectly—we really didn't mean to do it, Gibbs," Abby begged. "And if I knew Tony was gonna break something, I would have told him it was off-limits. I didn't think—"

Gibbs' gut sunk to his feet. There were very few things in his house that he would care if someone broke. "Abby?" he asked, starting for his car.

"The boat, Gibbs," she whispered. "He was hiding in the boat, and it fell on him."

That boat was heavy. He couldn't pick it up without a second pair of hands. "Dammit, Tony,"he hissed. He could be really hurt, trapped under all that weight. "How—"

He had planned to ask how badly Tony was hurt, but Abby responded like it was an accusation. "I'm so sorry, Gibbs! I have to go! We're at the hospital!" And with a click, she hung up on him.

Gibbs swore loudly and creatively as he pealed out of the parking garage. He dialed Ducky.

"He's at the hospital, Duck. Meet me there."

* * *

Abby paced back and forth in the emergency waiting area. Despite her loud protests and impassioned explanations, they hadn't allowed her into the treatment area. "He's only eleven!" she had argued, but that had only led to one nurse suggesting she needed to be seen for a psych eval. So Abby signed a string of choice words at the young man's retreating back and began wearing a tread in the carpet.

"Where is he?"

Abby jumped, whirling to face the familiar voice. "Gibbs!" she cried, her stomach dropping. That was not her usual reaction to the sight of the blue-eyed former marine, but he was so rarely angry with her. There was fire in those eyes, burning hot and fast. "I didn't—I only—I'm sorry!" she whimpered. "I didn't mean to break—"

"Abby, I know," Gibbs said, pulling her into a quick, hard hug. "Where did they take him?"

It took her a second to process his words and that squeeze, but then it clicked. She had misinterpreted him over the phone. Which was weird in and of itself—she was usually pretty great at reading the Bossman. But she had been so nervous she had gotten it wrong. He wasn't mad at her. He was—it felt strange to admit even to herself—scared. Leroy Jethro Gibbs didn't get scared, except he must, because it was clear in his voice, his carriage, that tight hug. Mind-boggling.

"Trauma 3," she answered. He took her hand and started off towards the emergency room entrance, practically dragging her along despite her long legs. "I wanted to stay with him but they said I couldn't! I tried but they were threatening me with a psych eval, so—"

"No one is going to stop me," Gibbs growled. "I've got a gun and I'm listed as next of kin." A nurse tried to intercept them as Gibbs bodily shoved his way through the double doors to the E.R. but a flash of Gibbs' badge stopped her. At least, Abby hoped he'd flashed his badge...it would be just like her silver fox to flash his _gun_ instead.

* * *

It was black—warm, soft, dark black. Nothing hurt. Soft and floaty and comfortable. He let himself drift.

* * *

Gibbs burst into the room, which was already crowded with people in scrubs. He heard Abby's soft gasp as she took in the scene. A back board stabilized Tony's head and neck. A familiar figure was peering into Tony's eyes with a flashlight as a young man and a middle-aged woman stood waiting off to the side. Their name tags declared them to be MRI technicians. A nurse was drawing something from a vial into a syringe. "Not too much, just enough to take the edge off until I can assess his faculties," Dr. Pitt directed.

"How's he doing?" Gibbs demanded.

"Sir, you can't—" the nurse protested.

"It's okay, Lisa," Brad said, without looking away from his prone patient. To Gibbs, he said, "That's what I'm assessing. Give me a sec."

Gibbs forced himself to wait, though were it any doctor but Pitt, he would have demanded to know _now_. He respected the doc Abby called ' the unfortunately named Brad Pitt,' though, and so he waited. Abby was poised against his side, uncharacteristically silent. He squeezed her shoulder. There was nothing he could do but wait.

Not patiently, though. "Well?" he demanded when Brad turned away from Tony's still form. "How bad is he?"

"You know the drill," Brad replied. "Until he wakes, we won't be sure. No obvious skull or spinal fractures, although I won't be completely certain about that until the films are back. He has another concussion, and his left leg has a compound fracture; we will get that cast up as soon as the more serious things are ruled out. He fractured a finger, too. Sending him to MRI right now, then x-rays." He made a gesture towards the waiting technicians, who moved to Tony's bedside and began undoing the brakes and readying him for transport. "Feel free to accompany him."

"Oh, I will," Gibbs said. Brad chuckled.

"I figured."

Gibbs exchanged a quick handshake with the doctor before following Tony and the technicians out of the room and down the hallway. Abby threaded her hand into his, and he gave it a squeeze.

"He'll be okay, right Gibbs?" Abby pleaded in an undertone.

Gibbs just sighed. But Abby was waiting for his response, her eyes wide and nervous, so he forced out a rough reply.

"He'd better be. He's got a boat to reckon for."

* * *

By the time all the diagnostics had been run, Ducky had ingratiated himself with Anthony's nurses, technicians, and nurses' assistants. He, at least, felt somewhat optimistic about the unlucky lad's prognosis.

"The situation is hardly ideal, but the boy has bounced back from worse. The fractures will be painful and inconvenient, but they will heal without dramatic medical assistance. I do fear that due to the swelling, however, that there may be further complications with Anthony's memory and cognitive functions. As you well know-"

"We won't know how bad it is until he's awake," Jethro interrupted. He took a deep quaff of his coffee and made a face. Ducky couldn't blame him; Bethesda had wonderful medical care, but the coffee was rather awful.

"Precisely. They have reduced his pain medicine to the bare minimum, though, so barring anything unforeseen he should wake soon. Dr. Pitt believes, and I concur, that he is not in a coma. His brain waves appear ordinary. All we can do now is wait."

Abigail was curled up in the hard plastic chair to Jethro's right. Her face was tense with anxiety. "Ducky?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically subdued.

"Yes, my dear?" Ducky replied.

"Is he...uh..." The dark-haired young woman sighed. "Can we see him now?"

Ducky sat on Abigail's free side and gently patted her hand. "It should be any minute now, my dear. they are just settling him in. What with all the plaster they had to use to set his broken bones, the drip for the pain medication, the urinary catheter—"

"Yuck," Abigail said softly. "He hates that."

"I thought we'd spare him the indignity of being on display during that process," Ducky agreed. "So, patience."

Jethro took another drink, made a face, and tossed the Styrofoam cup on the trash. "Know anywhere I can get some decent coffee, Duck?" he asked.

Ducky smiled. "You know where the surgeon's lounge is. I would try there first."

* * *

He hurt. And he itched. He heard a distant beeping. Where was he? He didn't even know. He didn't want to know what he'd gotten himself into this time, not when it hurt like this. And so he fought to stay in the dark behind his eyelids. He'd just stay here...Gibbs would come for him. He always did.

* * *

Gibbs returned, coffee in one hand and Caf-Pow in the other, just as Dr. Pitt came into the lounge. Abby took the drink gratefully and drank a long swallow. "Thanks, Gibbs," she said.

"Can we see him?" Gibbs demanded. Pitt nodded. Gibbs was immediately off, leaving Abby and Ducky staring at his back.

Abby snapped out of it immediately. She bolted after him. "Gibbs, wait for me!"

The Bossman didn't wait, but Abby had hardly expected him to. They reached the door to Tony's room simultaneously.

Abby was relieved when she saw him. It wasn't that he looked good—he was connected to the bed by a maze of tubes and wires. A huge bump under the thin hospital blankets outlined his leg, encased in a cast. His fingers were taped together in a splint. There were wrinkles that said he was in pain crossing his face. But he was alive, breathing normally, and should wake up soon. And that was beautiful, as far as Abby was concerned. She rushed over to his side and very carefully took his injured hand into hers. "Oh, Tony..."

"Mmm," Tony mumbled. Abby straightened.

"Tony?" she said again, peering anxiously at his face. On the other side of the bed, Gibbs put his hand on Tony's shoulder.

"You with us, son?" Gibbs voice was as tender as she had ever heard it. She smiled. _What?_ he signed irritably with his free hand. She shook her head. She wouldn't tease him. It made her happy to see her boss' soft side, especially considering he spent most of his time pretending he didn't have emotions. Well, except anger. He was good at showing that one when necessary.

"Gibbs? Abby?" His voice was dry and hardly intelligible. He opened his hazel eyes. "What...happened?"

"You broke my boat," Gibbs said dryly, but his eyes were twinkling.

Tony swallowed hard. Abby saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat. "Broke your...uh..." He trailed off. After a moment, he said, "Okay. I mean, not okay, because it's not okay that I broke your boat. But um...why do I itch so bad, then?" Abby could see he wanted to scratch, but he was practically tied to the bed by wires and tubes. He tried to clear his throat. "Can I get some water, please?" he asked scratchily.

Abby grabbed a cup of water off his side table. "Sit him up, Gibbs," she said. "His throat is dry."

"Some water wouldn't hurt," Ducky said as he came in the door. Gibbs pushed the button to raise the head of the bed. "How are you, my boy?"

"I'm alive," Tony said. "Although, if it's true I broke Gibbs' boat, I might not stay that way for long." He sipped from the straw Abby held to his lips.

Abby saw Ducky and Gibbs exchange a look just before Tony's words hit her. That sounded...oh, my. She felt her heart speed up. "Tony, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," Tony pointed out, then gave a little grin. "What?"

Abby told herself not to get her hopes up. It could be nothing. He had been spending time working on the boat with Gibbs over the last few weeks. And he'd lost a lot of his wary shyness and most, if not all, of the fear of Gibbs that had plagued him at first. But her heart raced anyway as she asked,"What year is it?"

Tony gave her a smile and an odd little look. "2011. Why?"

And Abby couldn't help herself. She let out a whoop loud enough to crack glass.


	22. Busted

Gibbs sat at Tony's side, sipping from a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee stolen from the surgeons' lounge. Starbucks would have been better but they weren't open this late at night, so he made do. Abby had gone home half an hour ago, after a quickly-signed demand to be called if anything important happened. He'd kissed her cheek, and waved her off, signing back, _Tomorrow_. She needed sleep; his youthful lab rat had gigantic black bags under her eyes. And so at midnight, she had reluctantly taken off.

Tony looked peaceful, snoring softly as he dozed. Gibbs studied Tony's peaceful face.

He was back. His senior field agent, his right-hand man, his second-in-command. No longer did that six-foot-two frame contain the mind of an eleven-year-old. He wouldn't flinch from a head slap, wouldn't call him "sir" and wouldn't make Abby cry.

He wouldn't need Gibbs to scare away the monsters at three in the morning. Wouldn't, no matter how broken or upset, let Gibbs rub his back and tell him everything was going to be okay. Wouldn't need Gibbs to be a parent, his parent. He would be an adult, not a child.

Gibbs sighed. It wasn't that he wanted Tony to be a child. Tony was a good man, a strong man, solid and dependable, independent. He appreciated these qualities; he counted on Tony for those qualities.

But there was a part of him, a rather large part, that felt downright sick about what he'd learned of Tony's childhood. And that part, the piece of him who would forever be a father, wished that he could give Tony-his friend, his brother-in-arms, his almost-son-the childhood every child deserved, full of love, encouragement, safety and joy. A childhood with a father who unconditionally loved his son. He'd only had a couple of weeks with Tony as a child. And as Ducky and his own gut had urged him, he'd given Tony as much of those things as he could. He wished he could have given more. It was sappy, sure, but at least in the private corners of his mind, he allowed himself to wish.

Tony mumbled in his sleep and tried to twist, but the tubes and wires cemented him to the bed. Gibbs leaned forward and put his hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony quieted again, transitioning back into his previous snoring slumber. He left his hand there, a silent attempt at comfort.

The hardest part, he mused, was that Tony didn't remember. Every attempt to question him about the last few weeks had been met with quizzical looks, disbelieving chuckles, and head shakes. Besides a vague memory of eating pancakes in the woods and another, just as unformed, of a room full of "old fogeys," Tony plead ignorance. He'd laughed when Abby had told him the tale of his disappearance into the labyrinth that was interrogation, and made a face when Tim had told him about his wish to shave his name into his head. "Serves you right," he'd said when McGee had complained about the slap Gibbs had laid on his head. "Who lets a kid shave stuff into his head, McGoo-for-brains? You're a scout master!" But otherwise, his face was blank.

Gibbs frowned. That wasn't like Tony, now that he thought about it. Tony loved a good story, especially when it focused on his crazy escapades. It was not like him to nod blankly. And he hadn't said a word about the fact that Gibbs wasn't calling him DiNozzo.

It hit him all at once. He glanced up at the clock. The nurse would be in for another concussion check within half an hour. He gave Tony's shoulder a good shake.

"It's 2011, Obama is president, my name is Anthony DiNozzo, and..." Tony mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

"Wake up, DiNozzo," Gibbs commanded. He gave his shoulder another shake.

"I'm awake," Tony said in a credible imitation of his reassurances when Gibbs startled him from a nap taken behind his desk. His bleary hazel eyes met Gibbs'.

"You remember." It wasn't a question.

For a mere half-second, Gibbs saw fear in his agent's eyes. Then a tired little smile took its place as Tony glanced at the clock. "Concussion check isn't due for half an hour," Tony protested.

Gibbs shook his head. Tony was good; Gibbs was better. "Don't play dumb with me, DiNozzo," he said. "You remember."

Tony dropped his eyes. Even in the dim light, Gibbs could tell his face was flaming. It was as good as an admission.

"Why hide?" he asked. "You've got Ducky thinking you have permanent brain damage-"

"I nearly did, boss." Tony's voice was nearly too quiet to hear.

"Nearly doesn't count," Gibbs insisted. Part of him wanted to be angry, but confused won out. "Why let us think you didn't remember?"

Tony avoided Gibbs' eyes, although Gibbs knew it was out of shame, not fear this time. The younger man shook his head. "I don't know, Boss," he said after a long pause.

Gibbs leaned forward and rapped Tony's forehead with the heel of his palm, not hard but enough to catch the man's attention. A head slap was out of the question due to the impressive goose egg he'd gotten from whacking his head on the concrete floor. "Don't give me that, DiNozzo," he said gruffly.

Tony sighed. It was quiet except for the steady beat of the heart monitor. But Gibbs waited him out; Tony seemed to be compelled to fill long silences.

Tony turned his face away from Gibbs. "Tony," Gibbs prodded.

Tony's words were quiet. "It's embarrassing," he whispered.

"Embarrassing," Gibbs stated. Tony nodded, then winced from the brush of the pillow against his aching head. "Explain." He didn't make it a request.

"I lived in your house. I got lost at my own workplace. I didn't recognize my teammates, my friends! I spent two weeks waiting for you to..." His soft voice faded into nothing.

"Waiting for me to what?" He thought he knew, but he wanted Tony to say it.

"Don't _you _play dumb, Gibbs. It doesn't suit you," Tony said, his voice harsh.

Gibbs waited.

"You were there too, Gibbs. How about you tell me." He spit the words like acid.

"Ok," Gibbs said after another pause. "You thought I was going to hit you. Beat the crap out of you. And you're embarrassed that you were scared."

Tony was very still, his eyes shut. A blush was creeping up his neck. When he spoke, his voice was still dark and furious. "Don't you get it, Gibbs? You should. There was a reason you didn't tell us about your family, right? A reason you didn't talk about your dad, didn't talk about your daughter, your wife. Because you didn't think it was relevant. You do your job, and it doesn't affect you. And my childhood isn't relevant anymore either. Yeah, I got my ass kicked regularly as a kid. I was jumpy. It happens when you spend your days waiting for your dad to explode and throw something at you or whip the skin off your ass for something as minor as breaking a cup. But that was a long damn time ago. It doesn't affect my job, doesn't affect me. It doesn't matter any more." By the end, Tony was nearly pleading.

It clicked for Gibbs then. Yeah, he was embarrassed that he'd been scared, but he was also worried that Gibbs opinion of him would change. Gibbs shook his head. For a smart man, Tony could sure be an idiot sometimes.

"Look at me. C'mon, Tony, look." He could see that it took a lot out of Tony to make eye contact, but he did. Respect for this man swelled in his chest. "Listen, 'cause I'm not gonna say this again. You are my senior agent. You do your job, and do it well. You don't let your crap get in the way of your work. And I respect you for that." He leaned forward. "But you're my friend too. Hell, you're practically family. And because of that, it does matter. You deserved better, and if I could, I'd wring your dad's neck. But don't think it's gonna change what I think about you, or how I feel about you. I meant it when I said you're irreplaceable, DiNozzo."

Tony's jaw had dropped slightly as Gibbs spoke. Gibbs watched as it formed into the ghost of a smile.

"That's the most I've ever heard you say in one go, Boss," Tony said, and his voice softened with humor. Gibbs let out a silent breath. He'd be fine. They'd be fine.

"You tell anybody, and I'll deny it." Gibbs smiled a little, though. He knew Tony understood.

"If I slip, you can tell 'em I was having a fever dream," Tony suggested.

"Damn straight I will," Gibbs said. They sat companionably in silence until the squeak of sneakers announced the nurse's entrance. She went quickly through the concussion check while Gibbs watched.

"Okay, Tony. I'll be back in a few hours," she said finally, and turned and left the small room. Tony watched her walk away, especially her hips. Yep, Tony was back.

Gibbs said, "You've gotta tell Ducky and Abs, and the rest," he pointed out after a moment of quiet.

Tony grimaced. "Do I have to tell them I lied?" he asked.

Gibbs shrugged. "Your choice," he said. But if he knew DiNozzo...

Tony sighed. "Abby's gonna kill me," he said.

* * *

He ended up telling Abby and Ducky the truth, and telling Ziva and McGee that he'd remembered overnight. Abby had swatted his shoulder hard. "You shouldn't have lied to me, mister!" she scolded.

"I was embarrassed," he admitted, looking down at the bump under the blanket that covered his cast.

"Embarrassed? Tony, it's me. I told you about the time when I accidentally swapped shoes with a drag queen and got into a knock-down, drag-out, drunken fight with her and Gibbs had to bail me out, and that was embarrassing! Or the time that McGee and I-"

"You really don't have to remind me about that one, Abs," he said.

"All I'm saying is, you know about my embarrassing moments."

"Technically, that last one is more embarrassing for the Probie," Tony replied. "But yeah, I see your point. I'm sorry, Abs."

"Apology accepted. And anyway, you were such a cute little boy, Tony. I just wanted to wrap you in my arms and take you home. Which, you know, is impossible, especially 'cause you're so tall, and there is no way I could carry you. But man, you were freakin' cute. Gibbs took you since he's good with kids and all, and he's practically like our Dad anyway, but if you'd been a little squirt, I totally would have adopted you! You never told me you were such a sweet little boy!"

Tony felt his face flame at Abby's excitement. "See what I mean? Embarrassing!"

Abby grinned. "Tough luck, sugar. As your friend and ersatz sister, I have the right to embarrass you whenever I please." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Now, you get some rest. Gibbs shouldn't have kept you up all night like that."

"They had to wake me for the concussion checks anyway," Tony said, but he settled carefully back into the pillows, mindful not to put too much pressure on the bruised and battered back of his head. Unfortunately, the donut-shaped pillow they had positioned under him to keep the pressure off his bruised tuckus didn't help much, but if he kept still, eventually the pain receded somewhat. "I don't know why they call it a "bruised" tail bone. It makes it sound insignificant, but you wouldn't believe how much my ass hurts," he said.

Gibbs walked in, a large coffee in hand. "According to the doc, you're lucky you didn't break it," he said. "That bubble butt must have cushioned your fall."

Tony glared at his boss. "I'm still bruised," he whined theatrically. "You could be nice to me, since I'm an invalid and all."

"Gibbs, you didn't bring me a Caf-Pow," Abby said.

"I advised him against it." Ducky came through the door. "My dear, I have watched you drink four of them in the last three hours. All that caffeine is not good for you. It promotes dehydration and excitability."

"But Ducky, I'm always excitable!" Abby said. "The Caf-Pow has nothing to do with it. Pretty please?"

Ducky gave her a fondly exasperated look. "One more today, Abigail, and that is enough. I would not want you to get ill."

Abby turned her gaze to Gibbs. "Bossman?" she asked cheerfully.

Tony watched as Gibbs and Ducky exchanged a glance, and then Gibbs nodded. "Come with me, Abs," he said. "Ducky and DiNozzo need to talk anyway."

Abby's face lit up. "Ooh, it was a conspiracy!" she said brightly. "That was pretty slick Boss. Not that I would put it past you, of course, but to bring Ducky into it...slick indeed."

Gibbs signed something at her, and then ushered her out the door. "We'll be back in ten, Duck," he said over his shoulder.

"Make it fifteen, please," Ducky asked politely. "Anthony and I do have a bit to discuss."

Gibbs nodded deeply, and then he and Abby were gone. Tony swallowed and looked the kindly doctor in the eye. "Abby already laid into me, Ducky," he said. "I'm probably going to have a bruise." He rubbed his shoulder lightly for emphasis.

"Well, I haven't had my say yet," Ducky said, but his eyes still had humor in them. "Now, that was eleven year old behavior, Anthony. You should be glad I don't take a slipper to you like my grandmother used to!"

"That's not necessary, Ducky." Tony felt his face heat up just a little. "Anyway, I'm already in pain. This donut-thing is not the miracle the nurses seem to think it is." He grimaced at the doctor, who shook his head.

"In all seriousness, though, my lad, you should have told me the truth. I am a doctor; I wouldn't have told anyone." Now he was serious, and his eyes were chiding.

"Except Gibbs," Tony pointed out. Ducky sighed.

"I do not tell Jethro everything we discuss, Tony. Although, I fear you are right; this information would be too pertinent to keep from him. However, you and he did discuss it, and there was no terrible fallout, correct?" Tony nodded. "So really, all that anxiety was for naught anyway. And truly, the last thing you need is more anxiety. The last two days have been full up with excitement enough." Ducky's voice was firm.

Tony ducked his head, embarrassed. "I know, Ducky," he said. Ducky patted his knee.

"Now, I know the doctors here have examined you up, down, and sideways, but if you don't mind, I'd like to check you over myself."

Tony thought about protesting, but didn't see the point. Either he'd acquiesce now, or Gibbs would come in, smack him in the forehead, and order that he allow Ducky to look him over. So Tony just sighed and nodded.

Ducky seemed satisfied. "Alright, then. Now, can you tell me your name and date of birth?"


	23. Home

Abby made herself busy, fluffing another pillow and placing it carefully behind the small of Tony's back. "Is that any better?" she asked.

Tony flashed her a bright, winning smile. "Much better," he said. "Although my butt is still killing me, but—"

"If you continue to complain about your butt, I will kick it for you," Ziva said, smiling. It was a devious smile; Tony didn't doubt her at all. "Do not think I will not."

"I'll help," Gibbs said. Tony pretended to pout, even though he didn't mind. After all, the entire team, including Ducky and Jimmy Palmer, had taken the afternoon off work to get him home from the hospital and settled comfortably into the guest room of Gibbs' house. It was nice to know they cared.

Ducky and Jimmy had left when the doctor's pager had sounded, calling the pair to a crime scene. Ducky told Gibbs to call if there was anything "young Anthony" needed. "And as for you, young man," Ducky had said sternly, although his eyes still held a twinkle, "If something is wrong—and you know full well what I mean; this is not your first concussion—you tell Jethro immediately."

So Tony had promised and the ME and his assistant had said their goodbyes and left. Now the others were getting ready to do the same.

"Anything else I can get you, Tony?" Abby asked brightly. Tony shook his head.

"I'm good. McGee set up the TV, Ziva brought Matzo ball soup, you've played nursemaid and I'm about as comfortable as I'm going to get with three broken bones, a goose-egg, a concussion, a bruised tailbone, and a nasty poison ivy rash covering a third of my body," Tony said cheerfully. He liked to innumerate the list of injuries he'd sustained; all strung together like that, it almost sounded impressive. Abby smiled and kissed his cheek.

"Okie dokie. I've got to skitter back to the lab; one of the other teams has a few things I need to run before the day is over, and I kind of promised them I would be back today. Although, technically, it will still be "today" at 11:59 tonight-that's 23:59 to you, Gibbs-so I could stall longer, but considering the nature of the case-"

"Get back to the lab, Abs," Gibbs said, kissing her temple. "Don't worry; DiNozzo and I will be fine."

"I'd better head back with her, Boss," McGee said. Tony pretended to be wounded.

"Fleeing my presence already, Probie-wan-Kenobi?" he asked. "You liked me better as an eleven-year-old, didn't you?"

Tim actually cracked a grin. "You didn't pull one prank, Tony. Never called me "Probie" or "McGoogle," never glued my fingers to my keyboard. It was a nice break, I guess. But I'm glad to have you back."

Tony made a slightly mocking face. "Aaw, Probie, I always knew you'd miss my eccentricities if they were gone. I'm touched." He clasped his hands over his heart. Tim shook his head, a grin that was equal parts fond and exasperated on his face.

"I'm sure within a week, I'll be praying another knock on the head sends you back into the early eighties," Tim said, rolling his eyes.

"Count on it, Elf Lord," Tony said with a mocking wink.

"I'm out," Tim said, gathering his things. "You ready, Abby?"

"I will follow you as well," Ziva said to Tim. "There is some paperwork I need to finish from that last case."

"Follow him?" Tony said. "More like leave him in the dust, unless your driving underwent as drastic a change as my memory!"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "I was trying to be diplomatic, Tony. Do not make me kick your hairy butt." She flashed him a smile that was equal parts sexy and menacing, and headed for the door. McGee followed her, giving a small wave to Tony as he went. Abby stopped at the side of Tony's bed and gave his unbroken hand a gentle squeeze.

"You be good, Tony," she said with chipper sincerity.

"I'm _always_ good," he said with an exaggerated wink.

"Yeah. Good at getting into trouble," Gibbs grumbled.

Abby smiled and leaned over to peck his cheek. "Well, if you're _too_ good I'm sure Gibbs can think of a way to keep you in line."

Gibbs smirked and signed something at Abby that made her chuckle. She signed something back. "What does that mean?" Tony asked suspiciously.

"Behave yourself or you'll find out," Gibbs said deadpan, which made Abby giggle again. And with a little flutter of her fingers and a cheerful, "See you later Tony!" she left the room.

And then it was just Tony and Gibbs in the guest bedroom, and the silence was heavy after the flurry of activity the small room had held. Tony, as usual, felt compelled to fill it. "Well, Boss, you gonna tuck me in?" Tony asked, a little grin on his face. He waited for the head slap his cheeky little comment was begging for.

Gibbs looked at him for a moment, gave a little shake of his head, and grabbed the quilt from the foot of the bed. Tony felt his face heat when Gibbs matter-of-factly drew it up to his shoulders and settled it there with a rough pat. "There. Sleep," he ordered.

"I _was_ kidding, Boss," he muttered sheepishly, burrowing under the blankets. He saw the sparkle in his boss' eye.

"I know," Gibbs replied mildly. He turned towards the door. "I'll wake you for supper."

"Pizza?" Tony said hopefully. Gibbs turned back, rolling his eyes.

"Only if you feel well enough to take Ducky's wrath for both of us. I got a stern lecture this afternoon about the role vegetables play in proper nutrition."

"Tomato sauce is a vegetable," Tony protested half-heartedly.

"Funny, this afternoon Duck made it clear that tomato sauce _isn't_ a vegetable," Gibbs said dryly. Tony opened his mouth to protest but the look Gibbs shot his way changed his mind. He sighed and sank back into the covers. But after all that hospital food, a couple of slices of his favorite sure would have hit the spot.

"Now sleep," Gibbs ordered. His hand shot out and flicked the light switch, so the room was bathed in the dimming light filtering through the curtains.

"Boss?" Tony asked.

"You want the light on?" Gibbs asked, his hand hovering over the switch. Tony chuckled; that hadn't even occurred to him.

"No," he said. Then he paused. This was going to be awkward as hell. Gibbs hated apologies, and he wasn't big on expressions of gratitude, either. But he'd started, and Gibbs had turned now to face him, waiting with an indecipherable expression on his face. He plunged ahead.

"Thanks," he said softly, his voice serious. "For everything."

Gibbs' eyes roved over his face before connecting with his own. Tony could read the fondness Gibbs had for him in their depths, as well as a dose of exasperation. The former marine stepped to the side of the bed once more and briskly smacked him upside the head.

"Ow," Tony said, rubbing at his head for show, though it hadn't truly hurt. "What was that for?"

"You don't have to thank family for being family, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "You know I've got your six. Now go to sleep before you find out what I signed to Abby."

"Okay, okay. Don't have to tell me twice." Tony closed his eyes. He sensed Gibbs leaving the room on silent feet.

And though he would have sworn he wasn't tired, it took mere minutes for him to drift into slumber.

* * *

They sat side by side on Gibbs' battered couch in companionable silence. Tony still looked tired to Gibbs' eagle eye, and he was sure that the man would sleep not long after dinner. Good. Ducky always did say it was the best medicine.

The doorbell rang. Gibbs stood.

"Is that Ducky?" Tony asked. "Because really, Boss, he looked me over like four hours ago. I'm fine."

Gibbs rolled his eyes as he headed for the door. He paid the pizza boy in silence and added a decent tip.

He carried the box into the living room and set it on the coffee table. Tony's face lit up. "I thought you said-"

"One more night of pizza won't kill ya," Gibbs said by way of explanation. "Not after 48 hours of nothing but green Jello." He sat at his teammate's side.

"But what about Ducky?" Tony asked, grabbing a slice from the cardboard box and taking a huge bite. "Mmmmm."

"You don't seem all that concerned," Gibbs pointed out dryly, taking a slice for himself. "Anyway, I'm not gonna mention it." He bit into the hot, cheesy slice and wondered if he had any Rolaids left in the house.

Tony took another bite and chewed. "I always knew you loved me Boss," he commented around the mouthful of melted cheese and tomato sauce.

Gibbs shook his head and forced back the smile trying to break through. _Never doubt it, DiNozzo,_ he thought.

"Wouldn't want to have to train up a new senior field agent," he said, deadpan. "Barely got you housebroken after all this time."

"I resent that remark!" Tony said with a mock-glare.

"More like 'resemble' it," Gibbs countered. "You did break my boat."

"I was eleven, Boss. And Abby never said the basement was off limits."

"Blaming Abby? Bet she'd have something to say about that," Gibbs said, arching his eyebrow. Tony's eyes widened.

"You aren't gonna tell her I said that, are you Boss? Boss? You know if she kills me, you'll have to train a new senior field agent AND hide my body, right? Boss?"

Yeah, it was good to have Tony back.

* * *

THE END


End file.
